Deadly Horizons
by Moonrose1
Summary: Kline is gone, and the detective group is divided. Christine has run away, Holmes is acting odd, and a new murderer is out there. It is up to Watson to solve the crime and save a friend. Can she do it? It looks doubtful. COMPLETE!Not like anyone cares
1. The Betrayal of Friends

Well, it has been longer than I've wanted, but yes, I'm writing again. All I have to say is that you shouldn't get your disk reformatted- you loose everything. And don't get sick- strep throat is a pain. And if you have a family tree project due, DON'T PROCRASTINATE! Yes, those are my lovely excuses. Worship them, because they're the only reasons I haven't written.

If you haven't read my ever so depressing SPLENDOR OF THE STARS, I suggest you read that before you even touch this. Yes, it's an actual sequel, not just another part of the series. And some warning to my loyal readers, this will be an unusual story. A lot of changes in the characters because of what happened in the last story.

And to whomever sent me an anonymous review and said that he or she didn't like my last story, that's quite all right. I don't expect everyone to like my stories. I write for myself, and occasionally that overwhelming feeling of joy when I get a good review. I love building my ego. If you don't like my story, go ahead and tell me why. I might even correct it- I aim to please, after all. If you have any suggestions, I read those too. Does anybody even read my authors notes?

Oh. Right. Chapter.

Chapter One: The Betrayal of Friends

"Does this sweater make me look fat?" I asked, staring into my full-length mirror. I glanced at the dark evergreen sweater, and then turned to look at Christine. My friend was sitting on my desk, her knees tucked neatly beneath her, and a book in hand. I couldn't see how she could read- it was seven at night and I didn't have any lights on.

"Christine, does this sweater make me look fat?" I repeated. Christine didn't move from her perch, but I thought I could see her eyes flicker with something akin to amusement. It was either that, or the candles had moved.

"Yes. It makes you look like a bloody bus," Christine drawled at me, turning a page in her book. I scowled at her and glanced again at my reflection. I'll admit, I hadn't exactly lost any weight in the past three weeks, but I wasn't as big as a bus yet. A small car, maybe...

I moaned in desperation and threw myself down on the bed. I was going to cry. How in the world had I gained ten pounds in three weeks? Ten pounds in three weeks... my mother had baked a chocolate cake last week, but I wasn't the only one who polished the plate off. And sure, I had blown my savings on candy, but...

I moaned again. Ten pounds since Kline had disappeared. Three weeks since Kline had disappeared. I was so screwed if we didn't find her quickly. Mentally, I slapped myself. I was being horribly selfish, and I knew it. Thinking about my weight when Kline was gone... horrible. I was beginning to be like the snobs at my old school- it wasn't always about me.

I felt a long hand rest on my back, but it was smaller than Holmes's. Sighing, I rolled over to see Christine's dull blue eyes staring down at me. They had changed a great deal since Kline had gone, as had her entire demeanor. She was much moodier, and snappy at times. She stared at me for a moment, and then turned away.

"I was kidding," she told me. I touched my sides tentatively and wrinkled my nose. For my extra ten pounds of weight, I didn't look all that much larger. Shrugging, I put my self pity in the closet and stood up.

"So I don't look fat?" I questioned. Christine faced me again, her face pinched into an obviously annoyed look.

"I said I was kidding, didn't I? If I was kidding, it means that I meant the exact opposite of what I said. And since I said yes, you looked fat, then the opposite is...?" Christine said slowly, as though teaching something to a remarkably slow preschooler. I scowled at her again.

"That I'm not. Thank you, Mrs. Penninger. Much appreciated, that lesson was."

"Whatever. Sherlock is waiting for you downstairs."

I rolled my eyes at her and opened my bedroom door, leaving Christine to slip into her own world of fantasies. I was beginning to loose my patience with her, I really was. She had been really annoying recently, more annoying than she usually was. Rather than going back into my bedroom and hitting her, though, I instead ran down the stairs to see Holmes.

He looked as well groomed as ever, wearing a light blue button down shirt and a pair of khaki pants. His hair had been neatly combed, and his shoes polished. I grinned at him and threw my arms around him.

"Tonight's the night," I murmured. Holmes pulled me away from him and took my hand instead, nodding.

"Four students, and I'm certain we'll both get chosen," he commented dryly. I ran a hand through my long black hair and grinned up at him.

"Only because you tutored me in English and in French. And made sure I didn't add something weird to whatever we were making in Chemistry. Not to mention-" Holmes cut me off, his hand tightening around mine.

"Shut up already, Watson. I helped you, yes, but that doesn't mean that you're not smart enough already. You would have figured it out... eventually."

"Probably not."

We stepped outside, a cab already waiting for us. I felt my heart jump into my throat as I thought about what was coming up.

About five months ago, before Christine or Kline had ever visited us in friendly old England, Holmes and I had heard about an experimental school in St. Ives. It was an interesting premise, an Arts Academy. Unfortunately, the school was only accepting four people from our own school, so Holmes and I had immediately filled out an application. The directors of the school had come down for a while and talked to us individually and made us perform for them. Tonight they were holding a ceremony and announcing who was selected.

Rain beat down heavily upon our taxi, melting the little bit of snow that was left on the ground. I watched as the pristine white snow became a brown, disgusting sludge. I watched it for a while, and then turned back to Holmes, who was sitting silently in his seat.

"Excited?" I asked quietly. Holmes smiled at me, patting my hand.

"But of course. Are you?" he asked in turn. I shrugged.

"More nervous than anything, to tell you the truth. I mean, what if you get selected and I don't?" I asked. Holmes chuckled, fingering my hair.

"As if that could happen," he murmured. I batted his hand away with a light smile.

"Come on now. You're far more intelligent than me. The chances of me getting in are slim to none."

"Slim to very high," Holmes corrected me, playing with my long black hair again. I gave in to his incessant fiddling, taking it as a sign of nervousness. Tapping my hand quickly upon his knee, I continued in my protests.

"Slim to none. Holmes, at least one hundred people auditioned for it. Why in the world would they choose me above all the talented people in our school?" I questioned. Holmes regarded me sharply, his eyes digging into me. Had I not have known him as well as I did, I would have cringed.

"Watson! I will hear none of it. You're looking for compliments, and I will oblige, just this once. The reason you will get in is because you sparkle, Watson. You have an air of charisma most lack, and your art is absolutely inspired. You play your flute with emotions, not just notes and fingerings. Now. Silence. I will not hear you protest again," he snapped, though I could hear the affection in his voice. I sighed and leaned back in the seat, carefully tugging my hair out of his fingers once again. He gave me a swift smile, and then turned his stare out the window.

We sat the rest of the ride in silence, both of us contemplating different things. I contemplating his words and the upcoming announcement- he, who knew what? All I knew was that I was very, very nervous.

The cab driver dropped us off, and I quickly paid the fare and then dashed inside after Holmes, who was heading swiftly towards the auditorium. I caught his hand when I finally reached him and squeezed it reassuringly. He squeezed it back, and then opened the auditorium doors.

If I was expecting a huge crowd, I was a bit disappointed. About twenty-five students were sitting in the chairs, all looking bored, tired, or frustrated. Very few looked confident, and even less looked calm. I was among them, I'll admit. Holmes, as always, displayed no outward signs of nervousness, but I recognized the signs. Twitchy hands, eyes darting about, absolute silence, shortened temper... the last times he had obviously showed those signs was during the last case. When he had reached a mental roadblock. When our very lives were endanger...

I pushed the thoughts aside, finding them amazingly uncomfortable. I really didn't want to dwell on the last case, or even dwell on Kline. Not even Christine, sitting alone at my house would enter my thoughts. Tonight was my night, not the night for bad memories and fears and sadness to enter me.

"Don't worry, be happy," I muttered, recalling the song. Actually, I didn't even like that song. The last time I had heard it was from a singing fish. Ooo, I hated that fish. But my thoughts were wandering far away from the desired ones, so I pushed the fish out of my head and stared up at the stage as Holmes led me to a seat.

Within seconds of me sitting, our principal came onto the stage, wearing a tie and suit that was rumpled, as it usually was. Our principal never was one for neatness, a trait that Holmes constantly sneered at. He stared down at the twenty-seven of us, and then smiled brilliantly.

"Well! How can I say how proud I am of all of you?" he began, his blond toupee bouncing excitedly on the top of his head.

"Easy," came a drawling, yet peppy voice from the audience. "Say 'I'm proud of you' and be done with it."

I recognized the voice instantly, repressing a frown. It was Cherry, a girl I had met when I had first moved to London. She had befriended me during a time when Holmes and I were fighting, only to reveal that she was using me and then left me to deal with life- very much alone, as Holmes and I had still been fighting at the time. I still held a grudge against her, which had increased much during the school year. While once rather pleasant and nice to everyone, she had just turned nasty. I remembered distinctly nearly punching her at one point, and probably would have, except that Holmes dragged me away last second for some trivial case. (AN- Yes, ladies and gents, another unwritten case. Don't try to find it, it never happened in any of my other stories.)

The principal looked fondly at Cherry, though it was worn and somewhat fake. "Ah, yes, there's our ever intelligent Cherry! So witty..." he trailed off, shaking his head. Then, smiling brightly, he made a wide gesture with his hand.

"At any rate, please welcome Miss Gardens, the Academy's headmistress," he cheered, clapping enthusiastically. There was a bit of scattered applause from the students, but most just looked extremely bored.

A somewhat pretty woman walked onto stage. She had dark, curly brown hair that was tugged neatly back into a bun, a few loose tendrils hanging down the side of her face. Her eyes were an impressive shade of hazel, with some darker brown specks in them. Her skin was evenly colored, a pleasant looking flush. Small, petite looking lips were carefully painted to a nice brownish color, which went well with her flushed complexion. She wasn't extremely tall, only about 5'5, but she looked shorter because of her posture. She was bent over, holding a cane in one hand. It wasn't hard to figure out why she needed the cane- her right leg seemed mangled. But she was dressed primly and neatly, and I could see Holmes study her with neatness.

"Good day, children and future students of St. Ives Academy for the Intellectually and Artistically Gifted. And before you say it, I know it's a long name. But it suits us quite well. At any rate, I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Felicia Gardens, and as your principal said, I am the headmistress of the Academy. I'm here to announce the four students who will be attending our school. The envelope, please," she announced, her voice pleasant and cheerful, if somewhat strained and quiet. Our principal brought a cream colored envelope out onto the stage and handed it to Gardens. Her small hands opened it slowly, and she brought out a piece of paper.

"I won't say the last names... I don't want to pronounce them wrong. All right, the four students we have accepted are... Cherry, Dakota, Sherlock, and Jennifer."

It took me a few seconds to realize that I was the only Jennifer in the room. I bit my lip in amazement, and felt Holmes take my hand and jiggle it gently. I glanced at him, my eyes filling with happy tears. I sniffed as the tears began streaming down my face, and I buried my face into Holmes's shoulder. However, he just yanked me towards the stage. I went up onto it, looking tearfully at the audience, all of whom looked either angry or jealous.

The only person on the stage I didn't recognize was Dakota. He was a small boy, pudgy, who had thick glasses sitting on his face. He didn't look like a dork, though, with his very fashionable American style. Everything on his body couldn't be less than fifty bucks. He had black hair and a very tan complexion. In fact, he looked distinctly Native American, which would explain his name. He was smiling with a pompous air, but he looked friendly enough.

"That's Dakota Marji. He's Indian, writes with his right hand, eats many yogurt cups, has a garden with geraniums at home, has a bad cold, and is a dancer for the London Ballet Company. He came here about three months before you did, a transfer from India. He doesn't speak a word of English," Holmes hissed into my ear. I didn't even bother asking how he knew half of those things, figuring that he would tell me later. I stared at Dakota for a minute, realizing he did look more Indian than Native American. That didn't really explain his name, but I decided that it was a nickname or something.

"Congratulations," said Gardens, who was standing in front of me quite suddenly. She outstretched a petite hand, which I accepted and shook firmly. Her grip was limp in my hand. She handed me an envelope, smiled, and then moved onto Holmes. She repeated her performance, and then turned to the rest of the students.

"I'm very sorry that I could not accept all of you. You are all extraordinary students, and I'm sure you'll go far in life. There will be refreshments in the hall if you would care to take the time. If not, I wish you the best of luck and much love. Good evening."

Gardens hobbled off of stage as the crowd dispersed, most looking angry and shooting glares at the four of us. Cherry looked at them all, a snobby smile on her face. Dakota looked somewhat dazed and confused, but he certainly held that superior look that Cherry held. Holmes looked bored.

"Well. I suppose we should be going now. Christine will be waiting for us, I am sure," Holmes drawled, looking troubled for some reason. I shrugged and slid my letter open as we walked. Holmes had already read his, and didn't slow for me.

_Dear Student,_

Thanks much for choosing to apply to our school. You were chosen based on your academic performance and artistic capability, not to mention personality and how we believed if our school was best for you. We congratulate you for your hard work.

In this envelope is a train ticket for St. Ives. The train will be leaving February 25th at 3 pm. You are expected to be there. There is a washing machine at the school, so you can bring as many outfits as you feel necessary. You will have your own dorm room, which is fairly spacious, and will not have a roommate.

Congratulations to you again,

Felicia Gardens

I folded the letter and squinted my eyes shut. The 25th was a Sunday, if I remembered correctly. I glanced at Holmes, who was several feet ahead of me, getting ready to leave the school. I ran over to him and grabbed his arm.

"The 25th is a Sunday, right?" I asked. Holmes spared me a quick glance, frowned, and nodded.

"Yes. We'll only have a few days to pack, so we must get home quickly. I'm sure Christine will be... pleased about this," Holmes said, fairly stammering. I studied him closely. Holmes's only stammered when very unsure of himself. Why would he be unsure as to Christine's feelings? She had only encouraged us when learning about it. Her feelings couldn't possibly have changed.

Holmes stepped outside, the fairly warm air a welcoming change to the stuffy school. I sighed and leaned against the building, pleased and a bit tired. Holmes noticed that I had paused and came back to join me. He let out a long sigh.

"Watson..."

"Yes, yes. I know. Christine will be waiting," I groaned.

"No, I won't," said a voice from my right. I spun around, startled, to see Christine staring at me, her dark blue eyes amused, but without the normal gleam of happiness. I placed a hand to my chest and looked at her, narrowing my eyes into a glare.

"You had to go and startle me?" I snapped, a bit irritated. Christine, who had been leaning against the wall, straightened up and stretched out her long arms, not looking at me. After running a hand through her light brown hair, she faced me again, fiddling with something in her hands.

"Not really. But things have been boring around here lately. How'd it go?" she questioned, suddenly eager. Holmes smiled enigmatically.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Congratulations," Christine said suddenly, clapping softly. I looked at her oddly, and then looked at my hands. The letter still sat compliantly in my hands, the creamy envelope sticking out in the darkness. I smiled at her as she stuck out a hand.

"Thank you," I replied, taking it and shaking her hand firmly. She shook Holmes's hand, and then held out her own hand. Holmes placed the letter in her hands, which she read quickly. Her eyes took in every detail, and when she handed it back to Holmes, she looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and anger.

"Miss Gardens... her hands aren't crippled, right?"

"No."

"Then why does she have someone else write her letters for her?" Christine questioned. I glanced at her sharply, but Holmes was smiling.

"Ah, you see and observe everything, Christine. That is a mystery that will have to be left for later. I would assume that her position is too high for her to even consider writing her own letters. Either that, or she doesn't have time. Whoever her assistant is, it's nice to know that he's a capable youth."

"Yes, indeed. Writes with his left hand. Not a usual occurrence, I've been told."

"Very well educated."

"Certainly not British- more likely American."

"Indeed. Perhaps a bit far-sighted."

"Glasses need to be checked."

I stared at both of them in amazement, and then looked at my own letter again, not seeing how they could have even figured out half of that. Christine plucked the letter from my hands and began pointing out a few things."

"The hand-writing is distinctively male, if you'll notice. It's written with a firm and confident hand, suggesting youth. His grammar is impeccable, creating the well-educated demeanor. Despite all of his education, he allows the very obvious slip up of blatant American grammar. 'Thanks much'. I haven't heard many British people say that. As for his eyes- well, the writing is large and bold, and there is some smudging along the letters, which means that he dragged his hand along the ink- left handed. I'll admit, the eyes are a bit far-fetched to me," Christine admitted, reading the letter again. The sparks of anger returned to her eyes, and then she left the letter in my hands, turning away.

"I'll be walking home. I won't be back until late. Don't wait up. And congratulations again," she said, her tone suddenly sharp and sullen. She stalked off before either Holmes or I could get in another word, leaving me to gape after her.

"What was wrong with her?" I asked, confused as I stepped into the taxi Holmes had hailed for us. Holmes sighed and sat down next to me.

"Exactly what I suspected she would notice instantly and you would not. We must leave for St. Ives," he commented tiredly. I shrugged.

"So?"

"Well, that means we have to leave London."

"No crap."

"Watson, think about it. A case has just ended with the abduction of a dear friend, whom you believe to still be in London. You're poking around desperately, but can find nothing. You are hoping your other friends will help you search for her, and indeed they seem quite willing. Unfortunately, they get called off to go to St. Ives to attend school, leaving you to your own devices. Even though you know you cannot do it yourself. How would you feel in that situation?" Holmes questioned, ticking off thoughts quickly. I bit my lip in horror, having completely forgotten about Kline.

"Oh."

"Her exact sentiments, my dear Watson. Christine is feeling a bit betrayed right now."

I sighed and buried my hands into my head. I was a complete idiot. I really was. I knew what it was like to loose my best friend. Not nearly as long as we had lost Kline, but long enough to feel sympathy. Holmes put a hand on my shoulder and rubbed circles, humming a gentle melody, which I recognized instantly as one of the songs from Holmes! the Musical.

Misery had made its home.

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It was very late when Christine came home, dripping wet and looking much like a dead rat. Her black clothes were soaked through, and she looked amazingly unhappy, sniffing every once in a while, and wiping her eyes. The rain beat down heavily upon my windows as she came into my room, instantly shedding her long black coat.

I watched her from my bed. She moved stiffly, a bit downcast even. Her hands, usually more twitchy than anyone I had ever met, refused to sit still for even a minute. She was compulsively grabbing and playing with everything in reach. I watched as she dropped a fairly expensive candle on the ground, sigh, pick it up, and promptly drop it again. I raised an eyebrow at her, but stayed still. She still didn't know I was awake.

Finally, she sat down at my desk and put her head down on the surface. She spent a good minute or so like that, and finally looked up again. I was shocked to see that there were tears on her face. But as soon as I had seen them, Christine wiped them away and glanced at me. I shut my eyes in a hurry, but obviously not fast enough, because I heard her laugh.

"Ah, my dearest Jenny. You needn't feign sleep. You usually breath fairly deeply when you sleep. I didn't notice immediately, unfortunately, but when I looked at you I knew you were awake. I told you not to wait up," she reminded me, her voice a bit hoarse. I opened my eyes and looked at her. The smirk I had known so well had returned to her face, if only for a moment. I sat up in my bed and rubbed my eyes.

"I didn't wait up. You didn't exactly come into the house quietly. You know, you don't always need to come through the window," I pointed out. Christine smiled grimly, shrugging.

"Yes. Well. Your mother was in the living room, and I don't think she would have appreciated a figure such as myself appearing in her doorway at- my, is it really 3 am?"

"Yes."

"At any rate... I figured that the tree around back would take me near the hallway window. As it was, I still had to jump. Split my hand against the wood, I'm afraid... oh, bother. Looking forward to the 25th, I believe," she commented dryly, placing her hand to her mouth and sucking on the blood. I crawled out of my bed and smacked her hand away, glancing at it. It wasn't a very deep cut, but it was fairly broad.

While digging around in my desk for some gauze I kept there just in case Holmes snuck in, I continued our conversation. "I suppose," I commented, pulling out the gauze. I didn't really want to mention it, knowing it might be a sore topic. "I mean, it'll at least be a change of scenery."

I nearly smacked myself, knowing it would be a direct illusion to the fact that we were leaving Kline in whatever hellhole she was in. But Christine merely outstretched her hand, allowing me to bandage it.

"Changes of scenery are always nice..."

"Where were you?" I blurted, forgetting myself and my act. Christine's eyes rose to meet me briefly, and I caught some of the ice in her glance. I immediately looked away, but her own response was jovial enough.

"Oh... just around town. I went to a few clubs, played strip poker with some of the Irregulars, climbed a tree and promptly fell out of it... my life was fun tonight," Christine said easily. I looked at her oddly.

"Strip poker?"

"I am remarkably bad at it, as it would appear. No poker face," she sighed. I snickered uncontrollably for a moment.

"Who played?"

"Thomas, Raze, Jimmy, and... oh, one of the younger ones. I can't keep track of them all. I'm going to say, however, that Thomas has a very nice chest. Very nice indeed..."

"Christine! Think about Todd!"

"Oh, pooh. For once in my life I was having a bit of fun and you had to bring up HIS name..." Christine trailed off, giggling a little. I stared at her, and then tilted back her head and smelt her breath. And frowned.

"Christine, how much did the Irregulars give you?" I asked sternly. Christine looked at me, sobering up instantly.

"One glass. Small. I didn't realize until... well, I didn't realize until later. Raze slipped it to me. I wouldn't have drank it otherwise, I promise. I hate alcohol," murmured Christine, looking apologetic. I scowled at her. 

"No use drowning your sorrows, Christine. Off to bed with you. I doubt we'll be getting a lot of sleep tomorrow," I scolded her. Christine regarded me sharply, her eyes holding that familiar spark that had died three weeks ago.

"I wasn't _drowning_ my sorrows. I wasn't even aware that I was imbibing until Raze informed me that I was drinking a rather pleasant form of scotch. I think that girl is Scottish or Irish, despite that phony Cockney accent. What was I saying?" she questioned suddenly, confused.

"You really shouldn't drink, Christine. You don't have the stomach for it," I reprimanded her again. Christine sniffed at me and stood up, attempting to look dignified. It probably would have worked, except for the fact that I knew her mind was in a thick haze.

"I know I don't have the stomach for it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with your guest bed."

"No, you have a date with Todd tomorrow."

"Shush, missy."

Christine left my room, and I watched as she pulled out an ancient silver key and unlocked the door to her room. I didn't see why she even bothered to lock it- but it was one of her old habits, I supposed, and then I went back into my room and shut the door.

She hadn't brought up what had been bugging her. It had obviously been bugging her a lot if she had been driven to play strip poker. I nearly laughed at the fact, except now I knew that she had been under the influence. I made a note to yell at Raze, and then lay down on my bed.

She hadn't yelled. She hadn't cried. She hadn't even mentioned it. She was slightly tipsy, had played strip poker, had climbed a tree... what in the world was she thinking? Certainly, she had been a bit more downcast and moody, but she certainly had never done anything so ridiculous.

I rolled over and began to drift to sleep, trying to shove the restless thoughts out of my head. I was just relieved to have been spared the dreadful argument with Christine.

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"You gave her ALCOHOL!" Holmes roared, more furious than I have ever seen him. I had given him the knowledge of Christine's return earlier that morning, while she had been curled up in her bed with a nasty hang-over. When I had told Holmes, he had froze, and then stormed out of my house. I had no choice but to follow him.

Raze stood right in front of Holmes, not even looking slightly fazed. It didn't surprise me- Raze was twenty-two, and Holmes was only sixteen. Still, anyone could see that she was impressed by the raving Holmes.

"She was unhappy," Raze said simply. Holmes whirled around to face her, his eyes blazing in a frightful manner. Raze met his gaze head on, and even I, standing behind Holmes, was frowning angrily.

"I don't care if she was unhappy. You don't give an underaged person alcohol. Especially someone you know is a friend of mine. How much?" he asked. Raze thought about it a moment, running a hand through her spiky blue hair.

"Half a glass. Full glass total, but I loaded it down with water. I don't see why you're complainin', Mr. Holmes. She seemed to have a good time."

"She was drunk," I replied heatedly. Raze glared at me, a look of surprise mixed with anger.

"After only half a glass that was so loaded down? Must have been an act, Miss Watson. No one can get drunk after just half a glass."

"Well, she certainly did."

"Actually, that was a mixture of exhaustion and drink, if you really must know. And yes, a little bit of acting. Not to mention the fact that I had hit my head when falling out of a tree," Christine said from behind me. I turned around and saw her smiling demurely at me, her cheeks tinged with red.

"How do you do that?" I snapped half-heartedly. Christine shook her head and rolled her eyes, turning to Holmes.

"Come now, Sherlock, I'm sure that she meant no harm by it. And it did provide a source of entertainment for a while," Christine reminded him, her eyes flickering with amusement. Holmes rewarded her with an icy glare, but even I could see him relenting. A little.

"You're underage, Christine," he shot at her. Christine snorted a bit, tossing her hair arrogantly.

"What do you care what I do with my life? Raze was cheering me up, is all. Besides, I've had alcohol before, and more than I had last night. So shut up and leave her alone, all right? She was just being a good friend," she hissed icily. I watched the exchange between two of my closest friends in rigid fear and amazement. Never had I seen Christine so... nasty was the word for it, I think. I could hear her implied words. She was insinuating that Raze had been a better friend than either of us.

And that wasn't too far from the truth, I realized dimly. We hadn't treated her poorly, perhaps, but we hadn't taken into account the Kline factor... but those were unhappy thoughts, and I pushed them away again, waiting for Holmes's reaction.

"A good friend would not allow you to have alcohol. Come along, Christine, we're going home," he told her. Christine snorted, and her eyes lost the friendly look of amusement they had previously held. They were replaced by pure iron, the coldest of iron. They burned into Holmes.

"You are not to order me around. I will come when I wish," was her reply. I turned my eyes again to watch Holmes's response.

"You will come when I demand."

"You are not my owner, and you may demand nothing of me."

"You are not in your right state of mind."

"Perhaps, but what I do is my business, not yours."

"When you are like this, your business is my business. As a friend."

"Then you will understand my refusal to go with you."

"No."

"Fool. If you cannot see my reluctance to be near you, than how can you call yourself a friend?" Christine questioned, her voice loosing some of it's venom. Instead, it held a twang of sadness. I felt sorry for her, and deep down I knew why she didn't want to go, but I had no desire to think of Kline. Stepping forward, I placed myself between Holmes and Christine. Both had a huge ego, and if things continued down that path, one or the other would probably strike out physically. And I had no great desire to play doctor once again.

"Hey. Hey, Christine. Look at me," I whispered quietly. Her dark blue eyes had been staring around my shoulder, glaring at Holmes. After a second, she tore away her gaze and focused on me, looking a little less angry.

"Yeah?" she whispered back, instinctively knowing that I didn't want Holmes to hear.

"I understand," I muttered quietly. Christine's eyes flickered, and all her anger disappeared in the blink of an eye. It was all replaced with an ocean of pain, and I wanted to cry as her posture slumped and her head dropped. Her long hands came up and put a hand on my shoulder, leading me away from Holmes. I felt his eyes upon my back, and I heard Raze sigh, but I ignored both, focusing on Christine.

"Jenny... look, I'm really sorry," she whispered to me. I looked at her, confused. She smiled vaguely, shaking her head.

"I've been a complete prat, I believe is what the British say. Or something like that. I've been taking everything out on you. I really did mean it, though, when I said congrats. Look... could you do me a major favour?" Christine asked, keeping her voice down. I nodded, ready to do anything.

"I really need to do this, and so I need you to forgive me. Oh, crap, that sounded completely cliche. Whatever. Anyway, forgive me..."

The only thing I remembered was some bony knuckles hitting me in the face, and then the interesting sensation of hitting the ground. Darkness.

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"I'm going to kill her. She won't even live to see tomorrow if I see her tonight. She dies, I promise, Mr. Holmes. Here I am, thinking she's some innocent little girl, and then she goes and collides with Miss Watson here. I never knew there was such depths to her! My, she's got a tough right hook, though, don't-"

"Raze, do be quiet."

Those were the first words I heard as I groggily returned to a state of awakening. Sighing, I rubbed my eyes and felt a nice lump forming on my forehead. It would appear Christine didn't have very good aim if she intended to hit me in the nose.

Holmes was immediately helping me get to my feet when he noticed I was awake. His eyes were full of concern and I clung to his arm heavily, trying to regain my senses. I sniffed a few times, and then rubbed my head.

"Ok, I'm not going to ask what happened, because I know that. Instead... where is Christine?" I asked. Holmes ignored me, prodding the lump on my head. I winced at his less than gentle touches and swatted his hands away. Holmes regarded me for a moment, and then nodded.

"Gone. She hit you and then ran. For someone who doesn't get very much exercise, she seems to move extraordinarily fast after she's hit a friend," growled Holmes. I shook my head tiredly.

"Holmes, get over it. She asked me to forgive her."

"And then promptly hit you," he argued. I moved my hair over my shoulders and began playing with it.

"You don't know what she's going through."

"Yes I do."

"No, you don't. You can't. Kline," I felt like choking as her name slipped out of my lips, "is her best friend, partner, and constant companion. She's confused, Holmes, not to mentioned scared. Nothing like this has ever happened to either of them. We're used to this by now. How many times have we been hurt by acting like detectives? Too many to count. But Christine and Kline are always so much more cautious then us. They... they have a different style. A different approach. And the results of our last case weren't what they were expecting. To Christine, it just isn't logical that Kline has been taken," I explained, feeling like a psychologist.

"You should be a psychologist, Miss Watson," Holmes commented dryly. I shook my head.

"Come on, let's go home. Mom is probably waiting for us."

We said our hasty farewells to Raze, who Holmes treated coldly, and then set off for home. We went our separate ways, and I returned to my house alone- only to find my mom in a state of panic.

"Jenny! Oh, thank God you're back! Have you seen Christine?" my mom shouted frantically at me. Peeling off my coat, I looked at her in confusion.

"You mean she isn't here?"

"No! She returned about fifteen minutes ago and went up to her room. I went up to check on her, but she wasn't in her room. Her window was open, and her suitcase was gone... I don't know where she went, Jenny! Oh, what am I going to tell Aminta?" my mom wailed. Aminta was Christine's mom, who was very protective of her daughter. I put a reassuring hand on my mom's shoulder, though I was pretty upset myself.

"Don't worry, mom. Christine probably just went to stay at a hotel for a few days. She told me about a week ago that she felt that she was infringing on our space," I said calmly, even though it was a lie. My mom looked at me, tears in her eyes, but then smiled.

"I'm sure you're right. Christine is far too level-headed to run away from home."

I smiled back, but my smile began to crack, so I made up an excuse about homework and ran upstairs. Instantly I shoved myself into the guest bedroom, where Christine had been staying for the past three weeks. I was dismayed at the sight.

Any signs that Christine had lived there had disappeared in those fifteen minutes when she had been left unattended. Christine was a messy person when it came to her room- yesterday her room had been covered in candy wrappers, books, notebooks, and who knew what else. Now it was spotless. The bed was made, the curtains were tied back, and the desk was practically polished.

Knowing I would find nothing in her room, I went to my room. Instantly I was relieved. A small note lay on my pillow, the name 'Jenny' scribbled on it. I sat down immediately, opening the letter and reading it swiftly.

__

Jenny- I didn't think I could actually hurt you, but I did. Really sorry about that. I didn't actually mean to hit you in the head. Jaw, maybe. Head, no. Look, I'm really sorry, but I had to leave. I'm kind of confused right now, and I need some time to think, without Sherlock breathing down my neck. It's selfish, but I need that time. Don't look for me- you won't find me. I don't want to be found. I'll be back as soon as possible, so don't get your knickers in a knot. Also, tell Sherlock not to use a revolver against me next time he sees me. And tell him to get off my back about the alcohol thing! I'm an actress, for heavens sakes. Good luck at your academy. I'm sure both of you will do great. Christine

It was a hastily scribbled note, and I could barely read her cursive. I set the letter down quietly and felt the tears I had been repressing build up, creating pressure in my head. Standing, I closed the door to my room, and lay down for a good cry. 

Yes, that is the first chap. If you haven't noticed, the characters are already beginning to take a drastic change. You'll begin to see how they all deal with grief and things like that. And you won't like some of the ways, trust me.

The rating is a very strong PG13 just because I deal with a lot of social issues in this story. Drugs will show up, alcohol has showed up, suicide... things like that. None of this will be very detailed, but this story will be MUCH darker. My own moods have become darker, which reflects in my writing.

My next chapter will be from Kline's POV. There will be some long delays in chapters now, though. I am an official high schooler now!!! Which means I have a lot of homework. *sigh*

Yes, I own Sherlock Holmes and Watson. If you believe that, you're not very intelligent. Christine and Kline are mine, though.


	2. In Dreams

Chapter Two: In Dreams

__

Christine smiled charmingly at her, snorting with laughter. I loved that side of Christine. When she just gave into her laughter and abandoned all logic and thought for a split second to laugh. I watched as my friend leaned over and picked up a red stone off the ground. 

"Do you know what this is?" she asked, the voice magically amplified. Christine tossed me the red stone, and I caught it, studying it.

"It is your heart."

I glanced up, confused, and saw Christine laughing again. But this time with malice and hatred. I glanced down at my chest and saw red liquid pouring out from a gap in my ribs, and then Christine was in my face.

"It is all your fault."

I screamed.

Yes, I did scream. I awoke with a start from my tortured dreams and yanked away from the vision of Christine's face. The leering grin disappeared instantly, and instead the view of my cell met my eyes. I sighed and wished I had stayed sleeping. Bad dreams visited often, but it was better than being awake and having to deal with that idiot Marie.

Three weeks. Three weeks since I had been taken. You would have thought I would be used to waking up with a stiff back and a sore neck, but I still wasn't. Those morons didn't even have the decency to untie me from the chair and let me sleep in that crappy cot they had. It wasn't like I could've run away. They had that place so heavily guarded it wouldn't have mattered.

Snorting, I rubbed my nose against my shoulder. I had caught a disgusting cold in that place- no heat in the middle of February!- and currently had snot dripping down my nose. Not a pleasant picture, but hey, it was a significant moment! Then again, every breath in that darn place was considered significant. That's right. I was bored. B-o-r-e-d. Bored to death. Bored to tears. Bored to-

The door opened. Turning my attention away from my snotty shoulder, I looked to see who was coming in. I really shouldn't have questioned who. It was always the same three people. Marie and her two henchmen. They really got on my nerves- Marie with that calm little sneer, and her two henchmen with a kind of dumb look on their face. 

Marie gave me a calm little sneer- hey, I was right!- while her henchmen looked sort of dumb. Mentally, I made three tally marks on the side of my skull. I was always right. I was cool, man. Who else can predict what her captors are going to do? Come on, count with me now!

"What are you grinning about?" Marie asked sharply, her eyes cold. I hastily wiped the silly grin off of my face and stared at her the way any normal hostage would- with terror. 'Course, it was all an act. That little idiot was smaller than me! As if she could hurt me! She was, like, 4'11. Okay, maybe taller, but-

The small hand that hit me on the cheek caught me off guard, causing me to lose my train of thought. I let out a small yelp and glared at Marie. She hadn't touched me before, and now she was off slappin' me? What was up with that, man?

"What was that for?" I asked angrily. Marie chuckled a bit and walked around behind me. I tensed automatically and prepared myself for the worst. Oh yeah, I got the worst. Marie started _playing with my hair!_ My long, gorgeous locks of blond were being played with by that nutso psychotic freaky weirdo! I bit my lip, refraining from hurting that freak.

"You didn't answer. You will answer when I tell you to," Marie stated calmly. I snorted. Well, if the woman wanted an award for melodrama, she certainly got my vote. Moron. And why wasn't she letting my hair go?

"Sorry. Next time I'll answer your every beck and call," I said sarcastically, trying to (unsuccessfully) yank my hair out of her hands. Marie just cackled, the weirdo. I half expected her to appear standing over a cauldron reciting that Shakespeare thing. Y'know, the Macbeth witches, or whatever. Never got through that play, actually. I preferred Romeo and Juliet. 

"Ow!" I yelled as Marie yanked my hair. My neck tilted back and she leered over me, her weird psychotic smile on her face. I really needed a better vocabulary, I really did. Weird, psychotic, and freak with various endings tacked on was not getting me anywhere.

"Do not be sarcastic with me, little girl." Ok, sorry, but I resented that remark. I was not little.

"I'm not little." Oh, genius Kline. Just go blurting out your every thought.

"Of course you're not," Marie purred. Her hands tugged on my hair again. I clenched my teeth.

"You know, you are really annoying. Give me three minutes alone with just you and me in a room, and I'll show you how exactly annoying you are. And I'll teach you a lesson about NOT ANNOYING PEOPLE!" I shouted as she yanked my hair again.

"All done," Marie said, supposedly ignoring me. Darn her. My speech skills gone to waste. I tried to twist my head around to see what she had done, but I couldn't see anything.

Wait. I couldn't see _anything._ Where the hell was my hair? It was really long, and I could always see it when I looked off to the side... oh, that woman was going to die.

"You CUT MY HAIR!" I shrieked, lunging a bit in my chair. Marie cackled again.

"This is just the beginning of your torture, Miss Kline. Your darling friends have made no attempt to find you," Marie breathed quietly, coming back around to face me. I glared at her. That freak had cut my hair! I had been growing it for years... it was so cool looking, too. Thick, blond... had darker highlights that were natural... I loved my hair. It was my best feature. Had I been the crying type, I probably would have burst into tears.

"I don't believe you," I said stonily, refusing to give in to her taunting. Sherlock, Jenny, and Christine had to be looking for me. I knew that they had to be looking. They wouldn't just leave me in this madwoman's hands. I know they wouldn't. They cared about me. They were my friends.

"-we decided to bring them out of hiding," Marie said. I snapped out of my little thoughts and looked at Marie, startled. Had she been saying something important?

Apparently so, because she snapped her fingers and her henchmen immediately went to open the door. They threw open the door with ease, and another figure entered the room.

It was tall, first of all. Maybe a little smaller than me. And it was a girl. A swell in the chest area kind of gave me that hint. Black hair, cut extremely short. A boyish hair cut, if you asked me. I couldn't really talk though, since I had no clue how short Marie had cut my hair. It stuck out at odd angles, like the girl had done it herself. If the girl was going for the dramatic effect, she certainly did it well. She wore all black and sunglasses over her eyes. Ok, she actually looked kind of biker-chick with black (tight) leather pants, a tank-top made of leather (in February, for Gods sake!), and knee high leather boots. Duh. She might as well have been made of leather. To complete her obviously American look, she had socks on her hands. At least, that's what I always regarded the style as. She had cloth past her elbows, with no fingers, and it looked like cloth. Plastic bracelets ran up her arm, and her ears were pierced several times.

Yeah, she looked pretty comical. I would have laughed, except she had this awfully big gun hanging off her hip. Really big gun. As in, could blow my head off with no effort gun. Vaguely I wondered where the heck she had purchased a gun like that. Eh. Maybe she pilfered it off some poor, unsuspecting military man. Heavily armed military man. This girl meant business.

"Mar-ee," the girl said, a heavy accent in place. I had no clue what kind of accent it was. Christine was always better with the accents than I was. Sharp pang of sorrow as I thought of my friend, quickly replaced by calculations. No need to think about friends who hadn't even tried to save my neck at a time like this. I had no idea why the girl had that gun, and I was really hoping she wasn't going to be using it in the next ten minutes.

"Ah, Ace! A pleasure to see you. I am delighted to see that you came prepared. But you died your hair black... whatever happened to your lovely shade of white?" Marie asked. Apparently, she knew this woman. Ace, or whatever.

"My picture that I used in advertisements is years old," the gunwoman said in the same, strange, broken accent (AN- I'm lazy, just pretend it's still there. For those of you who have read Harry Potter, think Krum's accent). "People recognized me with white hair, and the police were going to find me. I had to change my hair."

"I hope, then, that your qualifications are still correct?" Marie asked quaintly. Ace nodded slowly, fingering her gun lovingly.

"If anything, they are behind the times," Ace replied. Marie smiled thinly.

"A... demonstration, perhaps? On our lovely guest here?" 

I froze in my seat. Yeah, as if I could do anything else with those nice little ropes restraining me from moving much. Ace turned to face me, her face colder than stone as she surveyed me. A faint smirk crossed the killer's face before she turned back to Marie.

"No. I reveal my skills to no one. I assure you, though, that whichever one you want dead will... disappear," Ace said dramatically. I swear, villains all have this thing for drama. Still, I was a bit worried. Some master gunman going after someone? I wanted to know who. Maybe I could convince those dumb henchmen to help me and get a message to Jenny or Sherlock or-

"Christine Penninger, aged fifteen, possibly sixteen. Reddish-brown hair, dark blue eyes. Friends of that little harlot over there," Marie said, pointing at me. "She is friends with Sherlock Holmes and Jennifer Watson. Here are a few pictures of her and information on where to find her. I want her dead. I want Sherlock Holmes to suffer. I want Miss Kline to suffer. I want Jennifer Watson to suffer. After she is dead, kill Watson. Here are some pictures of her. Make the deaths bloody and exceptionally painful. Drawn out. Torture them. I want you to tell me about how much they screamed."

Ok, sorry, but I have to admit, I did the girly thing. I had a whole lotta fun passing out. But can you really blame me? I mean, I was hungry, cold, upset, and just heard that my friends were being targeted by some poorly dressed Bulgarian girl. I think it was Bulgarian, anyway. I didn't pass out for long- like, two minutes- but when I came to Ace was wrapping up her business with Marie.

"They're in St. Ives. Watson and Holmes were accepted into an Arts Academy of some sort. Quite amusing, since the entire school is just a trap for them. Gardens has kept up a good act so far, but the facade will most likely deteriorate in a few weeks or so. My pocket money only stretches so far, and the building they're renting costs so much money. Imagine, Sherlock Holmes receiving an education from criminals!" Marie cooed, her voice reaching unimaginable heights. I winced, which caught Ace's attention.

"Your guest does not enjoy your voice, Marie. If you'd like, I can take her off your hands," Ace offered. I blanched considerably at the offer. My hair was already in ruins. If that girl forced me to dress like her, I was screwed. She might even be one of those perverts who enjoys American playthings. She did have a weird sounding hopeful tone in her voice... not going there. Definitely not going there.

"As much as I would like that, no. She is a most annoying creature, but she is so fun to toy with."

Ace looked disappointed, but quickly returned to her stoic, creepy-looking self. "Very well. I leave you with your captive. Marie, do not harm her just yet. I may need her to lure out those that you want dead, and she won't be any use if she's injured. People do not pay for broken merchandise."

With that, the pretty creepy gunwoman Ace walked out of the room, slamming the door violently behind her. I was dismayed to note that she had taken the photos with her. Marie stared at the door for a moment before turning to look at me.

"And so the fun begins, Miss Kline. A pity that you can't partake in the fun. Your little Christine friend should be fairly easy to kill. She's a pacifist compared to you... not very fast, not very smart, and reluctant to fight... I chose her to be first because of all those qualities, you know. She has such pale skin... imagine how wonderfully it will bleed come the time. Perhaps I can arrange for Ace to bring her back here and kill her..."

"Enough!" I yelled, teetering dangerously on my chair. It tipped wildly and then pitched to the side, bringing me with it. Oh yeah, great. Now I have a snot filled nose, funky emotions, AND a headache.

"Oh... poor girl. Such an emotional wreck. Not at all like your friends. Hmm. I look forward to seeing your reaction when Ace sends me photographs..."

I growled and tried to look as evil as I could from my sideways position. Didn't work really well, sadly, but I think I instilled fear into the hearts of the cockroaches that went scuttling by.

"Do shut up."

Those were Marie's last words to me for the day, and she spun and left the room. I sat on my side, staring at the concrete ground, when I felt my chair lifted and set straight. It was her two henchmen, Amelia and the other one... I didn't remember his name. They looked at me sympathetically, and for once I saw a gleam of intelligence in those dull eyes. The man- why couldn't I remember his name?- made quick work of the ropes binding me as he helped me to my feet.

"Oh, thanks. Mind me asking why your risking your butts to untie me?" I questioned, rubbing my head and then my nose. Amelia handed me a handkerchief, to my shock, but I took it anyway.

"We don't want to see anyone get hurt. We may act and look dumb, but that's only because we want Marie to believe it. We work for her, but we're not loyal to her," Amelia explained. The man nodded. I shrugged.

"Cool. Thanks then. What do you know about that Ace girl?"

"Just that she is an excellent shot and a ruthless murderer," Amelia said, offering me a cigarette. I declined.

"She's a sniper, actually. A really good one. Worked with the American police. Don't be fooled by that thick accent. It's put on because the police won't recognize her. She is white haired naturally, but nobody has ever seen her eyes. Besides her sniper talents, she has a deck of cards that are actually razors. She's famous for them. It's how she got her nickname. If she can't shoot them, she uses her cards. Painful, I've heard, and it takes forever to die by them," the man grunted. He had a curious monotone voice.

"Oh, great. So my friends are going to die in a card game. I mean, come on. Christine has no poker face, but this is ridiculous!" I exclaimed. Amelia and the man smiled thinly, but didn't reply. Instead they waved their goodbyes and left me alone in my room.

Alone. Great. 

Bored. B-O-R-E-D. Bored to death. Bored to tears. Bored to-

I was tired. The cot, despite its small size, looked comfy. So I went to bed.

I hoped the nightmares wouldn't come again.

Isn't Kline an odd one? Yes, her thoughts are fairly hard to follow. But that's the way she does things. Heh. She has a different narrating style compared to Watson. I hope it wasn't too hard to follow. If it was, I'm sorry. I'll try to revise it a bit, but I wanted everyone to see that Kline is always a fairly relaxed person, even when panicked.

I'm sorry I haven't written for a while. I got bronchitis, then a sinus infection, then the flu, and then a cold. I really need a better immune system. Anyone want to trade?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I loved the reviews so much, and they really encouraged me to keep writing. Whoever asked why Christine punched Watson, I did explain it. Christine needed to get out of there because she was extremely upset and emotionally distraught. Sadness can do that to a person.

Again, thanks much to all who reviewed. Please review this chapter! I know it's short, but how much detail can be put into a person who has been sitting in a chair for three weeks? She hasn't done much...


	3. Oddities

Eh. New chapter. Yay. It's two am and I am still writing... I hate you all for making me do this. No, really, I love you. Moving on... none of you want to hear my senseless ramblings.

Chapter Three: Oddities

Watson's POV

The train ride was fairly uneventful, sadly. We had heard nothing from Christine up to date, which managed to depress me and worry my mom to death. I managed to convince her that yes, Christine was staying at a hotel, but she wanted proof. Proof that I simply couldn't provide.

Holmes knew how distraught I was, but wisely kept his silence. I knew that at the moment he would spew nothing but insults towards her, which I couldn't deal with. Holmes had been furious at her since she had hit me. I understood that he was upset, but I didn't understand his blatant hatred of her right now. Honestly, I just wanted us all to be together again. Friends. That's all I wanted.

I buried my head into my hands and shook my head, instead trying to focus in on the lessons. We had been at St. Ives for two days, and it was pretty boring. Worse than my past two schools, which I had thought impossible to beat. None of the professors had any idea of what they were talking about. In fact, I doubted that half of them even had a college education.

If I seemed bored, I felt sorry for Holmes, who seemed smarter than me in almost every class. I say almost because his English skills really did need work. Anyway, he was currently sleeping. He actually looked pretty cute when he was asleep. He lost that hawk-like look in his eyes and his hardened features (caused by stress) would soften so that he looked his age again. His brown hair was always feathery, but when he was asleep, it always fell into his eyes. He looked so handsome.

Usually. As of the moment, he was drooling all over his textbooks as our math tutor went on and on about Pythagoreans Theorem. What's more, he was telling us the wrong thing. I knew for a fact that x2 minus x2 divided by two, and then y2 minus y1 divided by two was the theorem for getting the midpoint. Not Pythagoreans Theorem. I envied Holmes for being able to fall asleep so quickly.

"Miss Watson!" a sharp voice said, shaking me from my ponderings. I glanced up immediately and met the hard eyes of the maths professor, Mr. Binky. He was a middle-aged man with a sinister looking face. He was currently sneering at me.

"Yes?" I asked politely, trying to act like a good little student.

"It would do you good to pay attention."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir."

"And wake Mr. Holmes up."

"Yes sir."

Mr. Binky turned back to the board where he proceeded to write out the formula for "Pythagoreans Theorem", so I leaned over and tapped Holmes quietly on the shoulder. He didn't wake up, merely wiped the drool from his mouth and all over his math book. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, but continued to tap him. When he didn't wake up, I poked him hard in the eye. He jolted awake, grabbing my hand and his eye in one swift motion. He released my hand after a second, but continued to rub his eye, scowling at me with his good one.

"Thank you ever so much, Watson. Exactly what I needed. Would you care to explain yourself?" he hissed. Smirking, I pointed to his textbook, which currently had several streams of saliva running down it. Predictably, he wrinkled his nose and wiped it away. I smirked again, but then returned to staring at Mr. Binky as he explained the Pythagoreans Theorem in the form of the midpoint theorem.

I'm bad at math, but that mistake was really annoying me.

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I may seem like a lazy girl, but let's get one thing straight. Beds. Are. Comfy. So when I go into great detail about me laying down on a bed and burying my face into the soft, cool pillow, it's not me telling everyone 'yes I'm lazy', it's me saying 'the bed was comfy, so sue me'.

I went into my dorm room immediately after math class, completely worn out with pretending to be interested in the lesson. Per habit, I flopped down onto my bed and buried my face into the soft, cool pillow. I've always loved pillows. They reminded me of clouds, and ever since I was young I had enjoyed looking at the clouds and pretending that they made something. I knew better now. Science had ruined my mind. But I could still pretend. I breathed in the scent of the pillow and smiled faintly. Lilacs. My pillow always smelled of lilacs. Kline's smelled like vanilla, Holmes's smelled like some unidentifiable aftershave or something, and Christine's was green tea. My throat suddenly was clogged at the thought of both Kline and Christine, so instead I focused on the soothing scent of lilacs. 

"Watson?" It was Holmes. I tilted my head to the side so I could look at him as he stood in the doorjamb of my room. He looked faintly worried, faintly sad, and faintly angry. Whole lotta faintly's, not enough facial room. I made a gesture to invite him in, and he closed the door behind him, leaning against it.

"Yeah?" I asked softly, the throes of exhaustion still pouring over me. Holmes smiled quietly, catching me off guard. He looked pretty serious, and I certainly didn't expect him to smile.

"Does it appear to you that this place is full of idiots?" he asked. I snorted.

"Idiots is an understatement. I don't think any of these people have ever been to school."

Holmes nodded appreciatively. "I am regretting our decision to leave London. We could be of so much more use there. St. Ives has nothing for us... just a pretty seaside and regular post. Speaking of which, you received a letter from Christine."

I snatched the crisp white envelope from Holmes's fingers in an instant, shredding it quickly and removing the small slip of paper from within. It had been ripped from a book, one of those blank pages you'll often find towards the back. It smelled vaguely of motor oil and gun powder. Pretty gross smelling, actually. My eyes devoured the small note as fast as possible.

_Jenny,_

Am alive and well. Grand old time in London. No leads yet. Will write soon. Christine

Holmes plucked the piece of paper from my hands and immediately began scanning it with his eagle eyes. He sniffed it a few times, studied it, and even licked it. Then he picked up the deceased envelope and began running his fingers over it. I watched, fascinated by the process. He didn't even do this with criminal things.

"First off, she's lying," Holmes announced. I raised an eyebrow, and he smiled a bit. "No postmark. She isn't in London. She's here, in St. Ives. She delivered this by hand. Second, she took one of your books. An older one... by the yellowing of the pages, I would say that it was your copy of Romeo and Juliet. Third, she has gotten a new job at a gas station. Fourth, she cut her hair a bit shorter. Fifth, she wrote this in a hurry, which suggests that she does have a lead. That's really all I can figure out from this letter."

I shrugged, a bit dismayed at her ripping out a page of my Romeo and Juliet book. I had really liked that copy. 

"Wait, she's in town?" I asked, suddenly realizing the point of his deductions. Holmes nodded. "Will she reveal herself to us?"

"I doubt it. If she didn't tell us she was in town when she wrote..."

"Yeah, I get it. So, ready to do some detective work?"

"Certainly. Do you need to change clothes?"

I glanced down at my khaki pants and blue t-shirt. They definitely weren't my best clothes, so I shook my head. Holmes paused as he looked himself over. As usual, he was wearing dress clothes.

"Well I do. Meet me in the main hall."

Holmes abandoned me in my room, leaving me to inhale the scent of lilacs one more time before I wearily got off the bed and trudged towards the door, a million thoughts running through my head.

This was my last case, I decided in exhaustion. Too many bad things had happened to us in the two years that I had known Holmes. I was getting sick and tired of rushing off to save a friend only to find them barely alive. I wanted a normal life. I wanted to go to the movies and giggle at chick flicks. I wanted to go out on normal dates. I wanted to spend my money on CDs, not detective crap. On my way out the door I grabbed the magnifying glass Christine had given me and stuck it in my pocket. It had become a habit to carry my magnifying glass with me. That just wasn't normal. I mean, most girls put on earrings or something on their way out the door. Me? I grab a magnifying glass.

I slipped down the stairs without incident. I was quite pleased with that, actually. Cherry had taken to poking her head out the door every five seconds just to make sure I wasn't going anywhere. She got on my nerves sometimes, but I really couldn't say anything. I'm sure that I annoyed her just as much.

I didn't have to wait long for Holmes to appear. He had, I noted with a grin, opted to wear the American clothes I had bought him the past summer. If anybody hadn't known it was winter, they would now. Holmes was wearing shorts, and it revealed his pale little chicken legs.

"Love the look, Holmes," I said quietly. Holmes glanced down and winced as he saw his legs.

"I wasn't trying to look stylish, Watson," he sniffed, looking hurt. I rolled my eyes and muttered something about guys being vain drama queens and walked out the door.

St. Ives wasn't all that different in weather with London, except that it felt cleaner. It was a nice little countryside town that smelled like fish. They lived on the seaside and had this thing for fishing, it would appear. It wasn't necessarily warm out, but it was a pleasant 40 degrees or so. The sun had managed to break through the clouds and was warming our path.

"So, do we check out all the gas stations first?" I asked, knowing the answer. Holmes merely nodded and started down the road. His eyes looked faintly troubled. He shoved his hands into his pockets, pursing his lips as he thought. I wished for a moment that I could get into his head, but quickly changed my mind. I could barely stand my own swirling thoughts, and didn't think I could stand another's. So instead, I focused on the rocks underneath my feet.

Holmes placed a hand on my shoulder, shaking me out of my rock observation. I glanced up into his eyes, which stared at my sympathetically. They looked... tired. Worn out. I bit my lip.

"Don't slip away and start thinking despairing thoughts, Watson," he reminded me. I rolled my eyes.

"Actually, I was thinking about the rocks. Not despairing thoughts, as you so eloquently put it," I shot back. Holmes merely raised an eyebrow and returned his attention to his own personal thoughts. I smacked him. "The same goes for you, Holmes."

"You don't need to worry about me, Watson."

"I know I don't need to. But I like to."

"That makes you sound like an old biddy."

"Thank you sooo much. I appreciate that opinion. I disagree, but-"

"Gas station."

Holmes started to jog ahead, leaving me in mid-insult. I cursed under my breath, muttering something about boys and cowards before I ran after him. By the time I reached him, he was beginning his conversation with the owner, or at least one of the workers. An older gentleman.

"A new kid? Yeah, I guess you could say that. She doesn't actually work here, but we've seen her hanging around more than usual. Name is Spades, or Ace, or some card like that. Black hair, sunglasses, really tall?"

Holmes frowned for a moment, but nodded anyway. I was a bit surprised. I'd never heard of a person like that in all my life. Did Holmes know her...?

"This girl laughs a lot, right?" Holmes inquired. The old man shook his head, scowling.

"Actually, no. She seems to hate people. Whenever I try to approach her, she runs off as though I got the measles or something. I've never heard her talk- no, wait, that isn't right. I heard her say 'leave me alone' to one of my workers once. She had a really weird accent. Bulgarian, or something."

"Maybe that isn't my friend. But she does like to trick people's minds. Anything else of interest about the girl?" Holmes persisted. The man looked suspiciously at Holmes but answered his question anyway.

"She always has a deck of cards with her, and I think she has a gun strapped around her waist. I've never really tried to look at it. She doesn't look like a very nice person, your friend. I'm a bit surprised she even has friends," the man admitted. Holmes merely nodded distractedly. I was busy trying to see if this weird girl was around anywhere. She wasn't.

"Well, thank you for your time, sir. I don't think that's my friend. She has brown hair and wouldn't be caught dead with a pair of sunglasses. Have a nice day," Holmes called back, already leaving the vicinity. I hastily followed after giving the man a brief smile. 

He was walking faster than normal and looked a bit upset. I frowned.

"Holmes, what's wrong? Did you recognize the description of that girl?" I asked. Holmes nodded slowly.

"Have you ever heard of someone named Ace the Assassin?" he questioned. I began to shake my head in the negative, but paused.

"Didn't Raze tell you, like, one month ago about an advertisement in the criminal underworld that had her name in it?" I asked. Holmes nodded slowly.

"The description matches perfectly, but for the hair. Ace the Assassin had white hair... but everything else is perfect."

"You think we have an assassin on our hands?" Holmes nodded uncertainly. "Great. Just great. As if life couldn't get any worse."

Holmes attempted to smile reassuringly at me, but it came across strained. "Don't worry, Watson. Things can always get worse."

"Thanks, Holmes. You might want to look up 'reassurance' in the dictionary, by the way."

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It was ten at night by the time we got back. We had been to every gas station in town, not to mention hotel and convenience store asking about Christine. Not one word. There were about twenty strangers in town, but the people we spoke to only remembered a "black haired girl, really tall and really creepy looking". Of course, that was the assassin (or so we thought) Holmes had mentioned. He was seriously worried. I, on the other hand, was seriously tired and had demanded that we go back and get some sleep. Holmes had consented. I walked him to his dorm room and then headed off for my own.

Slipping the key into the lock, I quickly entered my room and locked it behind me. A cool breeze hit me in the face, and I welcomed it. Spring would be coming soon, I decided happily. Not that spring was much better than winter, but it was something. I patted the wall in a desperate search for the light switch. My hand touched the cool switch and I flipped it up. Light flooded my dorm room. I walked over to my bed and sat down, glancing out the window.

The window... was open, I realized in shock. I left my windows closed at all times because I liked to keep the heat in. But here it was, window wide open as though I had done it myself. I jumped off my bed and looked around for something sharp. Someone was in my room. My eyes caught sight of the plastic knife I had used to spread cream cheese on my bagel the other day. I grabbed it instantly, holding it tightly in my hand. I began by looking under the bed. Nobody. The closet? No one. Behind my door had a few dirty socks (gross), but that was it. Where was the person?

I gave up after ten minutes of futile search, instead going over to the window to try and use Holmes's methods to figure out things about my mysterious visitor. Unfortunately, my visitor had been unusually careful about mud traces or whatever. I think I stared at the window for five minutes before realizing that a black envelope was sitting on my bed.

While I mentally yelled at myself, I scooped it up and used the plastic knife to open it, figuring Holmes would want to study it for clues. I left the envelope, which had been addressed in silver ink to "Miss Jennifer Anne Watson" on my nightstand while I opened the letter.

It too was written in silver ink. Had it been from somebody that I knew, I would find the color remarkably cool. The fact that it had come from an unknown someone made the ink incredibly creepy.

__

Dear Miss Jennifer Anne,

I must say, it was a pleasure to know that you are hunting me. Two renowned detectives tracking the ever elusive black widow? An amusing tidbit of information. I thought you might care to know, though, that I have seen your little friend, Amanda Evie. I believe you refer to her as Kline? I thought you might like to know that Marie hasn't hurt her too badly- yet. I suggest you think quickly unless you want this spider to kill her.

Ace the Assassin

PS- Remember, spiders must be respected, or they will strike unrepentantly. 

PPS- Your window lock was remarkably easy to pick, Miss Jennifer Anne.

An ace of spades fluttered out of the letter fold as I studied the letter in unrelenting horror. I nearly bent down to pick up the card, but decided against it. It might have fingerprints on it or something. Holmes might find that useful. I paused. What was I thinking? We knew who the culprit was. I bent over and picked it up.

It was a normal playing card. A single black spade in the middle. I flipped it onto the back to see the design and had to smirk a bit. It was a spider web. Ace the Assassin had a theme going, if nothing else. Aces and spiders. Intriguing bit of info. I didn't really care.

Instead, I rushed out of my room, running down the hallway to Holmes's room. Cherry poked her head out of her door to watch me, but I scowled at her and she disappeared back into her room. Reaching his door, I pounded on it desperately.

A tired looking Holmes answered the door, his hair already mussed from sleep, his clothes wrinkled. Apparently he had gone to bed in his clothes. He squinted at me and then raised an eyebrow.

"Watson, what is the matter? Thirty minutes ago you were pleading exhaustion, and now I find you pounding at my door. Is something wrong?" he asked. I gaped at him.

"And they call you a great detective? Of course something is wrong! Ace the Assassin was in my room! She left me a note and her calling card of sorts," I whispered urgently. His eyes widened and he griped my shoulders, burning holes into my eyeballs.

"Are you absolutely certain?"

"The letter, ace of spades card, and the fact that my window was open even though I had locked it are pretty much hard evidence," I snapped irritably. 

"Yes... let's go. We don't want valuable evidence being lost."

I followed Holmes as he dashed down the hall and into my room. I stood in the doorway glancing nervously around as Holmes roved around my room, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He picked up the letter and read it, frowning a bit and biting his lips. He then looked at the envelope and picked up the ace of spades. His thin fingers danced on everything, taking in everything. Finally, after ten minutes of anxious silence, he turned back to me.

"She's good," he commented lightly. I raised an eyebrow.

"That's all?"

"Her point of entry was obvious, but she didn't leave anything on it. I would be surprised if she was careful not to touch anything. She wore gloves, I'm sure. I'll check just in case, but I think she would have worn gloves. The silver ink is not very expensive, but it is unique to London. The manufacturer sells it very rarely, and only to people who have a 'certain spirit' about them, I think he said."

"You and your connections."

"Yes..."

Holmes appeared troubled as he read the letter again, and I walked over to place a hand on his arm.

"Holmes, what is it? You look upset," I said. Holmes looked down at me and sighed.

"You didn't read the letter very closely, did you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Read it again."

I did as he requested, reading the letter intensely. I handed it back to him, shivering a bit.

"It's creepy, Holmes. I don't think I like this Ace much. She has a smug tone about her, and an evil one. I can just imagine her voice. Soft, whispery, but full of malice. Can't you just see her, bent over this piece of paper, writing slowly and reading it aloud to herself, lips curled in an arrogant smirk? Oh God, I can just see it!" I said softly, my imagination getting the better of me. I did see it all. A tall girl, gun on her side, holding a pen that gave off silver ink. A scary, soft laugh that frightened Kline, made her cry, as Ace the Assassin pulled out her gun and aimed...

"Watson! Watson, snap out of it! You are letting your imagination get the better of you," Holmes said in my ear. I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at Holmes tearfully. It wouldn't be the first time I cried, but I had always been careful not to cry much in front of him.

"Oh Holmes... Kline is probably so scared," I whispered, tears beginning to slip out of my eyes. Holmes looked at me sympathetically and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"I wish I could reassure you, Watson. But here is the bad news: Marie has Kline, not Ace."

I stared at him in shock and then snatched the letter out of his hand, rereading it.

'_Marie hasn't hurt her too badly- yet'_

'Yet'

'Marie'

'Hurt her'

I sank down on my bed, tears flowing rapidly now. My breathing became shallow and the room began to buzz. Holmes was by my side in an instant, flapping the envelope rapidly as to get some cool air in my face. I realized that I must look as though I was going to pass out, so I held his arm still.

"It's all right, Holmes, I'm not going to pass out. I'm just... just... oh God! This isn't fair! This wasn't supposed to happen to us! I want to be normal, Holmes! I don't want to be involved in mysteries anymore! I want to be a normal teenager, with a normal boyfriend, and a normal life! It isn't fair that one friend is in the hands of a sadistic murderer that happens to be your mother! It isn't fair that one friend just can't take it and runs away! It isn't fair that we're left to pick up the pieces, go in and save the day! Damn it, Holmes! Why the hell did you drag me into this?" I shouted, bursting into tears. I collapsed sideways into Holmes's lap after my tirade, shaking with tears. Holmes ran skillful hands over my hair, teasing the tangles away. He didn't answer me, just let me cry. His hands were shaking, I noticed in the midst of my sobs, but I didn't do anything. I just cried.

When I was done, I looked up at Holmes. His own eyes were blank, devoid of any emotion that resembled sadness, anger, or even happiness. Just emptiness. I shook him, and he looked at me sadly.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice hoarse. I nodded silently, and then looked around my room.

"I don't think I can stay here tonight, Holmes," I whispered. He looked at me sharply, then nodded, taking my hand in his.

"Come along. My room has a couch that I can sleep on."

I barely protested as he led me down the hall, into his own room. Guiding me gently, he sat me down on his bed and then forced me to lay down. Holmes pulled the covers up to my shoulders, leaned over, and kissed me on the cheek.

"Good night, Watson. I'll wake you up in the morning," he said gently. I was already half way asleep, though, and merely let out a breath in response. I heard Holmes take himself to the couch, lay down on it, turn over, and then let out a sigh. I closed my eyes and began to drift off.

I wasn't awake when Holmes began to cry.

Ok, and that is it for this chapter. Yes, it's somewhat depressing, I guess. I'm in a depressed mood. I tried to throw a little bit of humor in, but I don't think it worked very well. Oh well. You can't blame me for trying. Thanks for all the reviews, they really made me feel special. I love you all for reviewing! Keep doing it, it makes these things come out faster. I know, not very fast at all, but if you didn't review, can you imagine what would happen? Remember those six months when I didn't update...?

Bit of sad news- this is my last story in the series. I've pretty much run out of ideas and am tired of writing these. The characters have changed so much. Christine and Kline, however, I'm going to continue to use. I've grown quite fond of them. When this is done, you won't be seeing the last of them... that's right, sigh! All of you! Bwahahahahahahahahaha!


	4. May It Be

No comments.

Chapter Four: May It Be

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Kline's POV

I was still sitting in a chair. It was a terribly interesting chair, I had grown to notice. It made all other chairs look dull in comparison. Oh yeah, that's right. I was in a cool chair. Coolest of all chairs. Other chairs looked up to it, followed it around, worshipped it. Other chairs wanted to _be_ my chair.

And no, I was not delirious. But I had nothing else to do other than write personal stories for inanimate objects that sat in my room. So far, I had a nerdy cot that spent his entire life trying to prove to the popular chair that he was good enough for her. A couple of glass shards followed them around singing annoying songs. That's right. My cot and chair weren't only a story, they were a musical. One song was called "Chairs Just Wanna Have Fun". It was sung by my chair, and scarily enough, resembled that song "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun". It was a pretty pathetic song. I didn't like it much.

I shook my head, trying to remove chair and cot thoughts out of my head. I mean, come on, how many normal girls think about chairs and cots, and their personal lives? Not many, that's for sure.

Christine might have, I reflected, scooting towards the cot a bit in my chair. Christine thought about loads of weird things. But she never thought about those kind of things. I was the one who had come up with the plugs and outlets thing. She had rolled her eyes. But did anyone ever think about it? I mean, the plugs really are like whores, diving into any old outlet. I scooted closer to my cot. Did the outlets get jealous, I wondered. I wonder if they ever struck back against their plugs.

I had reached my cot! Woo-hoo! Alert the presses! I began to rock back and forth in my chair, carefully tilting it towards the bed. Slowly but surely, it tipped over, and I fell onto the cot. I was still tied to the chair, sure, but now I was laying down. I sighed in delight and shut my eyes, beginning to fall asleep.

However, right before I reached dreamland, the door crashed open and I was startled into alertness. I opened my eyes hesitantly, not wanting to see who was there. Marie, however, didn't let me stay in ignorance for long.

"Kline! Wake up! We're leaving!"

Well, that certainly got my attention.

"Leaving?" I asked slowly. Did this mean they were letting me go? Probably not, but I could dream.

"Yes, that's right. Someone alerted the police about a young woman being held captive here. The police are on their way. My plans are disrupted. I am taking you to St. Ives," she snapped, yanking me up and untying me. I flexed my hands experimentally, relieved that my wrists were free from their bondage.

"Do you know who alerted them?" I questioned. Marie turned to stare at me. We're talking snake-like stare here, people. Be afraid.

"I have a feeling that Ace may have spoken with some of the wrong people. She doesn't know about the snitches and plainclothes cops, as so many people refer to them as. She probably mentioned you. I will have to harm you for that, I'm afraid."

"Hey! What did I have to do with anything?" I shouted, a bit upset at being used. Come on! I wasn't the one walking around and telling cops where I was. Not that it was a bad idea, but still.

"Ace has an interest in you. She wants you for her own property. If I hurt you, it may prove a good example. Now shut up! Fredrick and Amelia are waiting for you!"

Fredrick. That was his name. Well, at least my kidnapper could do something right. Joy of all joys. Note my sarcasm.

I was hurried down the hall, a couple of bad guys leering at me. I sneered back at them, tripped one of them (Marie had to hold him back and threaten him before he put his knife away and left), and generally made myself appear the tough guy that I wasn't. Didn't really fool them, I guess, but it showed them I wasn't any wilting flower. I hate girls who act like that.

I was taken out to a van in the back, where I was quickly shoved inside. Amelia and Fredrick pulled me inside and sat me down. Before I could speak, they had pressed their hands against my mouth and were hissing words into my ear.

"Don't speak. Marie is ticked off, it wouldn't do you any good. Just let it be."

I nodded quietly and they removed their hands. I let out a long yawn, realizing that I had been avoiding sleep for a couple of days. Whenever I had slept, I had nightmares about Christine, Jenny, and Sherlock. Amelia smiled at me, and Fredrick nodded towards the blanket that was next to me. Shrugging, I lay down on the floor, drew the blanket over me, and fell into a deep sleep, undisturbed by dreams.

******************************************************************************************

"Wake up!"

I snapped to attention, waking up on my cot with a thin blanket over my lower body. I was confused. Where the heck was I? This place was much nicer than my old lair. This place had paint on the walls (light blue) and carpet on the floor. And my cot wasn't a cot, but a twin-sized bed. I even had a TV in my room! Hey, this was all right. I might be able to catch some of my favorite TV shows. I liked watching the Gilmore Girls. I wondered if they had it over here in England.

"Are you awake?" Marie asked, scowling at me. I nearly scowled back before remembering that she had the rights to hit me. Correction. She had no right to hit me, but nobody was going to hold her back.

"Yeah, I'm awake. Is this my room from now on?" I asked. Marie sneered at me, but nodded.

"Yes. Amelia and Fredrick wanted you to have a TV and bed. They will be spending the most time with you from now on. I have other jobs to do around here."

I looked at her in interest. "Other jobs?"

"Yes... some associates of mine have some things to learn," Marie informed me, her mouth twisted into a demented grin. Can we get one thing across? Marie is weird. Intelligent, but I think she lost whatever remained of her sanity years ago.

"Killing them?" I asked casually, my stomach twisting a bit at the thought. 

"Perhaps, if they don't cooperate. I'm leaving now. But I needed to give you this before I left."

Marie's hand recoiled and then came across my face with a snap. She slapped me a few times, which sorta hurt, and then drew her hand into a fist and slammed it into my cheek. Ok, that really hurt. As in OW! Marie smiled sweetly at me, turned on heel, and left me to clutch my face in pain.

Sighing (which hurt, actually), I fell back onto my bed and breathed deeply, pondering my bad luck. First I got captured, which sucked in and of itself. I barely remembered the details anymore. I had been chasing the dancer girl who had been killing everyone, and had followed her into the warehouse that Marie was staying at. I didn't even recognize all the bad peoples until I got hit on the head with a piece of wood. That was an even bigger ouch than being hit by Marie. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in my old room, tied to a chair. I got food every day by some people, but Marie hadn't visited until a week or two after my capture. Guess she was involved with some other unspeakably evil thing.

Pawing around the bed, I found a remote and flipped the TV on. I wonder if England got good cartoons.

I know it is short, but that is all I wanted to accomplish this chapter. That's all I have planned: what I intend to accomplish each chapter. I don't expect many reviews for this chapter, so I'll play nice and try to give you a new one soon. 


	5. Philosophies with a Fisherman

Blah... yes, I am writing these in quick concession with the other couple of past chapters.

Chapter Five: Philosophies with a Fisherman

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Watson's POV

I woke up early in the morning, gripped in frightening dreams, a stifled scream escaping my lips. I clutched at the bedclothes in terror, my eyes wide and unseeing. All I could see was horrible image after horrible image.

Kline being killed slowly, painfully. Her eyes ripped out, her tongue gone. A murderer, a tall woman with black hair, peeling back the skin on her arms slowly. A maniacal laugh, a depraved laugh. Screams, hollow and lifeless, scared and passionless. Christine drowning under water, her thin hands clawing at the surface, dark blue eyes wide in fear as Kline's body dragged her down. More laughter. Holmes shooting himself for failing the case. Me finding him. The laughter still going, becoming more and more hysterical as it went...

Tears fell out of my eyes and I fell sideways, tangled in the sheets that I clutched convulsively. I tumbled from the bed and onto the ground, gasping and muttering senselessly as I did so. I began shouting in terror, trying to make the images go away. Trying to make it all go away.

"Watson! Watson! Stop! Quiet now, it was just a dream," a male voice hissed in my ear. I reached out with my hands, and I was instantly in someone's arms, being picked up and set back down onto the bed again. The arms didn't let me go, though, something I was thankful for. I held onto what I knew to be Holmes and cried for a bit.

"Come now, Watson. It was merely a dream. Nothing to be disturbed about," Holmes said after I had finished. I scowled at him.

"Then you have never had bad dreams before, I see."

"On the contrary. I find myself subject to them on a regular basis. I merely find no stock in them."

"If you had been in this one, you would have understood. It was pretty real, Holmes. What is more, it has every chance of becoming real."

Holmes looked at me oddly, but didn't ask me what the dream was about. I was glad. I didn't want to have to explain it to him. I didn't want to relive it. Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and pushed Holmes away. I had cried too much in front of him in the past twenty-four hours. It was time to get serious. If I didn't want my dreams to come true, it wasn't going to help if I just sat around and cried all day.

"Thank you for comforting me, Holmes. I know it makes you uncomfortable," I said honestly. Holmes squinted at me and yawned. Reaching over, he picked up the alarm clock I had successfully knocked from the stand in my struggles.

"3 am... lovely. Why don't you go back to sleep, Watson?" he suggested, running a hand through his messy hair. I patted it down lovingly and kissed him on the cheek.

"Yeah. I'm going to head down to my room. It wouldn't do either of us any good if Cherry saw me leaving your room in the morning," I said, standing up. I straightened my clothes as best as possible. Holmes tipped over sideways, crawling into the bed I had occupied only a few minutes earlier. He mumbled something at me and snuggled into the covers. I grinned half-heartedly and pulled the covers up to his chin. 

"I'll see you later in the morning, Holmes," I whispered. 

"Uh," was his intelligent response.

I slipped out of the room and closed the door softly, heading down the hall. I snuck past Cherry's door, but heard voices. I'm not normally an eavesdropper, but Cherry had really been ticking me off. I walked closer to her door and pressed me ear against it in hopes of hearing the conversation.

"...blood... lots of it... don't know what we're going to do... Felicia... Watson?"

That was all I heard. I frowned at the mention of my name and strained to hear more, but the voices had grown to be quieter. I clenched my hands in frustration and walked away swiftly. If I was Christine, I would come up with some clever way to slip into the room and listen to the entire conversation. If I were Kline, I would just barge right in and demand to know what they were talking about. If I was Holmes, I would deduce what they were talking about and solve an entire case. But I wasn't them. I was lonely little Watson, who walked away. 

Always walking.

I threw open my own door in anger and stormed in. Walking over to the open window, I slammed it shut and locked it again. I picked up the letter from Ace that Holmes had left on my bed and threw it in the garbage. Sneering, I ripped the ace of spades in two. I wasn't going to let some girl toy with me and my friends. If she came near my room again, I would be waiting.

Shaking with anger at myself, primarily, I sank into my cold bed and pressed my head into the chilly pillow, welcoming the cold. It would clear my head. I reached out to set my alarm clock, but an envelope stopped me from pressing the buttons. I groaned. Was it another letter from Ace?

As it turned out, no. It was the letter from Christine we had received yesterday. Holmes must have left it in my room. The boy was always leaving something behind. I stared at the crisp envelope and then pulled out the note.

_Jenny,_

Am alive and well. Grand old time in London. No leads yet. Will write soon. Christine

Was it true what Holmes said? Was she in St. Ives and just eluding us? Did she have leads? I flipped the letter over and saw that something had been erased. Intrigued that Holmes had missed something, I sat up in my bed. Reaching around, I grabbed a soft leaded pencil and began to lightly scribble over what had been erased. It was an old technique that would reveal what the person had written. To my disappointment, the letter hadn't been finished. Still, perhaps it would tell me more.

_Jenny, there is so much I want to tell you. So much I want to reveal. I can't, though. I'll tell you this much. I have a lead on where Kline is. I want to alert the police, but can't. I'm really worried, Jen. This case is so screwed up. I _

The letter stopped there. I gazed at it for a few minutes. I wondered what she wanted to tell me that was so secretive. I wondered what had stopped her in mid-sentence. I wondered a lot of things. By the time I had read the letter three times through, I was furious with her. She was a little wuss, running out on us like that! Now she was off somewhere having the time of her life, while Holmes and I had to sort out dealing with some sick minded assassin and the loss of a close friend.

Snarling, I shredded the letter into many little pieces. I didn't want to find her, I realized. I didn't want to give the letter to Holmes so he could deduce where she was in the blink of an eye, and then look at me sympathetically for not being able to figure it out myself. I was so sick and tired of being the dumb one, the average one in a group of genius's. I opened the window and let the pieces of paper flutter away in the wind. Satisfied, I sat back on my bed and closed my eyes, hoping to fall asleep.

Sleep refused to come. I opened my eyes minutes later and realized that if I fell asleep, my nightmares might return. I felt confined in a tiny room. I sighed and pulled on my tennis shoes, lacing them up quickly. Looking around my room, I found my windbreaker by the closet and put it on. Looking at the open window, I placed my foot on the sill and crawled outside.

The cool night air swept over me and I decided that living near the ocean wasn't that bad. It was still somewhat chilly, but it was getting better. I shivered briefly and then began to walk away from St. Ives Academy for the Intellectually and Artistically Gifted. There was a nice little dirt path that led to the main roads. I walked down it quickly, trying not to focus on the darkness.

The main road was lighted, though, so I felt instantly at ease. I passed a gas station, which was pretty much empty. An old man sat inside reading a magazine. I looked around for our mysterious Ace, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. She wasn't around, much to my disappointment. I didn't know what I would do if I spotted her. Not take her on, that was for sure.

A few houses and other businesses littered the main road. A pleasant looking church sat by the docks. The docks themselves housed a few small fishing boats and, farther down, some larger boats. There were a few speedboats, but not many. I sat down on the docks and pulled off my shoes and socks, dipping my feet into the ocean water.

It was very cold, I noticed. The salt didn't feel to pleasant on my skin, either. I pulled my feet up only moments later, grossed out by the water. I certainly would not want to go swimming in it. Disgusting.

Sighing, I pulled my knees up to my chin and rocked back and forth in the chill air, staring off to where the sun would come up. I hoped to watch the sunrise. That would certainly be nice. I had heard that when the sun broke over the water, it was like seeing heaven. Then I remembered that I wasn't in America anymore. The sun wouldn't come up over the ocean. It would come up over the hills. I nearly sobbed in desperation, but turned to look to the hills. I sat and stared off to the east, waiting for the sun.

******************************************************************************************

"What have we here?" I heard a deep voice question. A second later I felt someone prod me in the back. Startled, I shot up and nearly fell into the water. A pair of calloused, yet gentle hands caught me.

"Careful, lass. We wouldn't want you falling into the water, would we?"

I opened my eyes fully and stared at the man who had caught me. He was a stocky man, with a thick, grizzly beard that was gray-ish in color. His light green eyes twinkled cheerfully at me, and his mouth was drawn back in a cheerful grin. I couldn't help but smile back, his smile was so infectious.

"No, sir, I suppose not," I answered truthfully. The man's grin broadened.

"Ah, so the lass has a voice! What were you doing out here, lass? Other than sleeping?" he asked, a pleasant Scottish lilt in his voice. I nearly laughed. I hadn't meant to fall asleep.

"I was hoping to watch the sunrise. I guess that didn't work out so well," I admitted, a bit embarrassed. The man chuckled and placed his hands on my shoulders, turning me towards the hills.

"Look, lass."

Right at that moment, the sun came up, a fiery orb on green glaciers. I stared in wonderment as it slowly broke away from the earthly hills and rose into the air, proclaiming its glory. My mouth was hanging open I realized, and I snapped it shut and looked at the man.

"Wow! I thought I had missed it. Not many people get up before dawn. Thanks," I said, sounding like a tourist. The man gave a great shout of delighted laughter.

"I'm a fisherman, lass. We're usually up before dawn. I'm glad to see that you got enjoyment out of that, though. I've seen it every day for twenty years. It loses a bit of the beauty after a while. To me, it's just another sunrise."

I smiled at the man, understanding. I had heard the same thing from a fisherman in Michigan years ago. I couldn't imagine the sunrise losing it's beauty, though. The sight was breathtaking.

"My name's Jenny," I said quietly, realizing I hadn't introduced myself. I outstretched a hand which the man shook enthusiastically.

"Zeke. A pleasure to meet you, Jenny. You're from that new school up the road, aren't you? St. Ives School for the Weird Ones, right?" he asked. I stared at him, not amused. Zeke had the courtesy to blush, though, and quickly apologized. "I'm sorry, Jenny. That's what we fisherman call it. We don't much like the administrator."

"Miss Gardens?" I asked, surprised. Miss Gardens had seemed like a perfectly nice woman to me.

"Aye, that's the one. Odd little woman. Queer, she is. I don't trust her. I've seen the way she looks at the people in this town. She hates us all," Zeke commented. He started walking down the dock towards a speedboat. I followed him, wanting some more information.

"You think she hates you just because she looks at you funny?" I questioned. Zeke turned around while he started to pull the rope off the speedboat.

"Has she ever looked at you with hatred in her eyes? It's down right scary, lass," he said. He tried to imitate the look, scrunching up one eye and widening the other, twisting his mouth into what I suppose might have been a scowl, except that it looked more like he was trying to use the toilet. I started giggling, and Zeke stopped, his broad grin returning.

"I guess it doesn't quite look all that evil on me," he chuckled. I shook with laughter and shook my head in the negative. Zeke grinned cheerfully and stepped into his boat. I stood at the edge of the dock, hoping to talk to him some more.

"Well, that still doesn't give you the excuse to make fun of the students," I scolded, still a bit insulted by the cruel name given our school in jest. Zeke erased his smile.

"I am sorry about that, lass. Can I make it up to you?" he asked. I looked at him oddly.

"How?"

"Why don't I take you around the ocean a bit? Come on, my boat is pretty safe. I'll get you a life jacket if you want," he said, seeing my worried look. I glanced at my watch.

"I don't know..."

"It's Saturday, lass, you won't get in trouble at your school."

"Won't I be disturbing your fishing?"

"I won't be fishing until later. Please, Jenny? I'll even teach you how to drive."

I was tempted at this offer. I was oh so tempted. I did like boats and had gotten my license years ago, in seventh grade boating class. I had never driven a boat, though. Zeke must have sensed my hesitation, because he gestured for me to get in. My will broke and I carefully climbed in.

"There's a good lass. Now here, put on this life jacket and I'll take you for a quick spin before I start teaching you."

Driving around with Zeke was great. I'm sure my mom would have shot me if she discovered I climbed into a complete strangers boat, but it was so much fun. Zeke was a really nice guy. He had a quick laugh and sharp wit. He fit my stereotypical look for a fisherman, but in temperament, not so much. I usually thought of fisherman as bitter, crass types who were obsessed with hunting a whale, or something. And I didn't even finish Moby Dick.

Hours later, after my short driving lesson (that was fun!), Zeke and I sat in the middle of the ocean, letting the waves lap us around. We were sitting in companionable silence, occupied with our thoughts. Finally, though, Zeke broke the silence.

"So tell me, Jenny, why were you really out at the docks this morning? I doubt that you came out solely for the sunset. It's mighty pretty, but what drove you from the school?" he asked, his keen green eyes peering at me. I sighed and leaned back, playing with my wind tossed hair.

"The usual. I was having some problems."

"Man problems?"

I snorted. Right now, my relationship with Holmes was probably the sturdiest. Even it was on rocky terms. "You could say that. More like friend problems. Things are a little strained between us," I admitted, not wanting to tell him everything. How Kline was in the hands of a psycho murderer and how Christine had ditched us. Zeke didn't need to know.

He looked at my sympathetically, placing his hand on my knee and patting it. "Ah, everything will work out, Jen. Feeling rather alone, aren't you? Feeling like your friends have left you alone to bear the burdens of the world?"

I looked at him, startled. He pretty much had read my thoughts. Zeke continued. "They're still there, and they're still your friends. But they might have their own burdens to bear right now. You teenagers always feel like the world's problems are on your shoulders. Your friends probably feel the same way. Just remember that they still need you. Give them time to work out whatever is going on in their head. They won't leave you for good."

Zeke turned on the engine and turned the boat back to shore before I had a chance to comment on his words of wisdom.

"Now, come on, Jenny. We'd better get you back. It's almost ten, and I'm sure your friends are wondering where you are. You don't look the type to leave a note."

When he dropped me off at the dock, I gave him a huge hug, much to his surprise and delight. Looking at him in the eye, I told him quite seriously "Thanks, Zeke. You've done a lot for me today."

"It was nothing, Jenny. You remind me a lot of my own little ones, except they're not so little anymore. Feel free to come by the docks anytime. I'm here every morning. You can borrow my little zip boat here, too, every day except Saturday." Zeke patted the speedboat lovingly, and I thanked him again before running off towards the school, waving good-bye to him as he started up the engine and drove off into the ocean again.

******************************************************************************************

I entered the school around ten, happier than I had been in days. Talking to Zeke had been wonderful. I no longer wanted to kill Christine, which was a relief, and I was no longer ready to cry. I hummed a bright Irish jig as I walked up the stairs to my room.

When I opened the door, I was instantly attacked by a furious Holmes.

"Where have you been? I came looking for you at seven o' clock!" he shouted, his face a funny shade of purple. I giggled.

"I was out on the ocean, Holmes, with a fisherman. Oh, it was wonderful! He taught me how to drive and everything! I should take-"

Holmes cut me off. "There's been a murder," he announced grimly. That shut me up instantly. I looked at him, shocked.

"Who?"

"Felicia Gardens."

"Well, come on! We have to check out the crime scene before the cops get here! They aren't here yet, are they?"

"No, though they'll be here soon enough, thanks to your dilly-dallying."

I didn't say anything to him, merely led him down the halls to Miss Gardens office. I was anxious to see how she had died. I stepped aside so Holmes could open the door when we got there.

He opened the door cautiously, careful to wear gloves and not smear any possible fingerprints. I followed, but was instantly stopped by Holmes, who eyed me carefully.

"Can you handle this?"

"It can't be as bad as Jackie's death," I reminded him, remembering our last case and the mutilation of the choreographer. Holmes nodded and let me in.

There was a lot of blood, for one, but not enough to make me throw up. It looked as though it had been stopped almost instantly. Miss Gardens was slumped over her desk, one hand thrown out towards the door, the other hanging by her side. Blood was splattered over her papers, but that was it. Holmes and I entered the room, looking around.

To our surprise, we found the murder weapon instantly. It was right in front of Miss Gardens. Her throat had been slashed with a sharp razor. A unique razor, we quickly saw. A razor in the shape of an ace of spades.

I studied it while Holmes wandered around the room, looking for clues. It was paper thin, but made of extremely sharp metal. The insignia of the spade was made with raised metal that looked as though it had been added on after the initial forging of the weapon. It was covered in blood, but nearly as much as I would have thought. I turned my neck so I could look at Miss Gardens face.

Her face was frozen in an expression of shock, anger, and just a bit of fear. Her pretty brown curls were down from their usual bun, and had some crusted blood on them. Her hazel eyes were dull. The cut on her throat was thin, just like the weapon, and was covered in thick blood. Still, it wasn't enough. 

"Holmes, it should have bled more," I commented, standing to look at him properly. He nodded and frowned.

"I suspect she was poisoned first. It appears Ace doesn't like blood all that much," he said dryly.

"This is going to make it harder for us to find her, you know. If we tell the police that the card is Ace the Assassin's trademark weapon, they'll start looking for her. She'll be forced into hiding," I warned him. Holmes shrugged.

"It doesn't matter to me," he remarked. I nodded and began to turn back to the body when I glanced at him sharply.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter to you? She knows where Kline is! She can get into my room! If we find her, we can find out where Kline is and prevent her from getting into my room at night."

"She can get into all our rooms, Watson. Use your head. All of our locks are the same," he snapped. I scowled at him, but persisted.

"That still doesn't account for the fact that she knows where Kline is," I pointed out. Holmes sneered.

"This is police work, Watson. This isn't a job for amateurs. We're not going to find Kline any time soon. We ought to just give up, tell the police what we know, and when they capture Ace let them interrogate her until she gives them the location. They'll take care of it."

I gaped at him as he left the room, and then chased after him.

"Hey, whoa, hold up! First off, we're dealing with Marie. She's never been caught before. What makes you think the police are going to succeed this time? Second, why the heck are you giving up? You never gave up before!" I shouted at him. Holmes whirled around and looked down at me, his eyes burning.

"I nearly did, if you'll remember. But you and your friends wouldn't let me."

"What makes you think I'm going to let you this time?" I snapped, not remembering the time he had nearly given up before. Still, I wasn't giving up that easily. Unlike him.

"It isn't your choice what I do or don't do!" he screamed. A few people poked their heads out of their doors, only to draw them back in at our nasty looks.

"This involves your friends! You're just going to let Kline die?" I retaliated, trying to make him understand. Holmes turned and started walking down the hall. I grabbed onto his arm.

"You're going to let Kline die?" I repeated. Holmes's eyes burned into mine before he twisted away.

"Stop avoiding me!" I shrieked, diving in front of him. He tried to move around me, but I blocked his path. He moved the other way, but I stopped him again. He snarled at me and shoved me aside. I slammed my fist into his arm for that, enraged. Holmes stopped instantly.

"Did you just punch me?" he asked, remarkably calm. I matched his calm, nodding.

"Yeah, I did. Whatcha gonna do about it?" I asked. He leaned in close to me, his nose only inches from mine. In other circumstances, I would have thought he was about to kiss me. Not today.

"Don't. Touch. Me," he hissed, his voice low and deadly. I leered at him, stomping on his foot. He recoiled instantly, and then turned to walk away, apparently disgusted. Again I jumped in his way. He rose to his full height, practically quivering in anger.

"Get out of my way."

"I'm not moving until you answer my question."

Holmes didn't answer my question. With a trembling hand, he reached out and shoved me against the wall. I slammed into it, hard, and when he released me, I slid down slowly. He walked away, his shoulders back and head high. Furious, I stood up, holding my injured shoulder.

"We're over, Holmes!" I screamed down the hall. If he wouldn't help my friends, he wasn't worth my time. I had hoped he would turn around and apologize. No such miracle.

"Good!"

"Screw you," I muttered, turning around and walked back to Miss Gardens office, intent on studying the crime scene some more.

Alas, today was not my day. The police were already there. I guess one was a visiting Scotland Yarder, because he recognized me.

"Miss Watson! Hello! I assume you have already examined the crime scene. Do you have any clues for us?" the Yardie asked pleasantly, not angry that I had been there already. 

I knew who the murderer was. I knew they were still in St. Ives. I knew that she wrote in silver ink. I knew she had been here the night before. I knew that she had entered by way of my room. I knew that she worked for a notorious crime leader. I knew tons of stuff.

"Nope," I replied, "I don't know anything."

******************************************************************************************

Later that evening I stumbled into my room, exhausted. After breaking up with Holmes, examining the crime scene, and going out on the ocean AGAIN with Zeke, I was ready for a long nap. Tomorrow was Sunday, thankfully, so I didn't have to get up early. I didn't even have to face Holmes, if I didn't want to.

With a soft sigh, I flopped down on my bed. Looking up, I saw my window was open again. With a louder sigh, I reached under me and pulled out an envelope. Again it was addressed to me in silver ink. This time, though, the envelope was black. Rolling my eyes, I opened it and pulled out the piece of paper.

_She's still alive and in St. Ives. Better get moving._

Ace the Assassin

The ever so familiar ace of spades fluttered to the ground again. This time, though, it had a black widow on the back of it, instead of spider webs. I rolled my eyes again and ripped up the piece of paper. Starting tomorrow, I was heading this investigation on my own. I had no clue how I was going to do it. I had no finesse for that kind of stuff. Pulling out my notebook and a pencil, I opened to a clean sheet and began writing.

__

Dear Ace,

It's great that you've decided to start a correspondence with me. I've always wanted a pen pal! Unfortunately, unless you can provide some honest-to-goodness clues on Kline's whereabouts, I'm not interested in being pen pals with a criminal. Sorry for the inconvenience that this causes you.

Sincerely yours, Jennifer Watson

I cackledat my letter and left it in my windowsill, content with knowing Ace would probably be back again. I pulled off my jeans and T-shirt, put on an oversized T-shirt, and then crawled into bed. I fell asleep quickly, shocked that I had no bad thoughts about Holmes, Christine, Kline, or even Miss Gardens. It would be my last of pleasant nights for a long time.

Wow, this chapter turned out better than I thought it would. Good for me. Please review, I really appreciate reviews. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy, and those feelings give me inspiration for torturing my characters! Hee hee... wait until the next chapter...


	6. When Darkness Falls

I know, I know. It's been a while. But I had to finish the story, and then my computer died and I lost my files. Again, this is my last story. Please don't shoot me after this chapter. Please.

Chapter Six: When Darkness Falls

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Kline's POV

It had been three days since my removal from London and my new home in St. Ives seemed way better. I mean, how many captives get their own TV with cable? I know Marie said it was because Amelia and Fredrick would be spending a lot of time in there with me, but I think that way deep down in that rotten heart of hers was a sprig of good will. Either that or an immense love of cable.

She wasn't lying, though, when she said that Amelia and Fredrick would be spending a lot of time with me. They were in their all the time. As in, all the time. As in, twenty-four/seven. As in, disease-like all the time. I think I got my point across. They didn't go away. Yeah, you're not stupid. You understand.

That wasn't exactly a bad thing, though. Amelia was kinda fun to be around. She would bring games from what I now deemed "the outside world" and we would play. She brought a deck of cards, explaining that she had stolen it from that weird gunwoman, Ace, when she had stopped by. She brought pick-up sticks, explaining that she had stolen them from her little sister. She brought a new game of Clue, explaining that she had stolen it from a house nearby.

As you can guess, Amelia is a thief.

Frederick was less fun. He didn't talk much, but when he did he didn't stop until all possible facts were rattled off. I mean, I once made a joke about the fattest woman on Earth and he rattled off her name, weight, height, age, and which page she could be found on in the Guiness Book of World Records. How's that for encyclopedic knowledge? He was better with info on people, though, I quickly found out. I could ask him about one of the criminals in the vicinity, and he would rattle off obscure facts, like that they liked their porridge lumpy and that they wore toe socks when alone. 

Frederick is a blackmailer, duh.

So, within three days I had learned every bit of info on every single criminal in London and the surrounding areas. I even knew about some American criminals that Marie worked with. The person I was most interested in learning about, though, was this guy named Jeffery. Now, this guy was way interesting. A complete moron, but his connections were way interesting. Frederick told me that he was Sherlock's step brother.

Now, isn't that cool? I mean, greatest detective on Earth has a criminal for a brother! How is that for irony. Frederick told me he was in jail now, but I didn't really care. Learning about him was awesome. I'm pretty sure Holmes doesn't know as much about the weirdo as I do. And trust me, anything I can hold over Holmes is a miracle.

Yes, I spent a lot of time thinking deep thoughts. Can you blame me? I couldn't play Clue all the time. I couldn't talk to Frederick all the time. And I know this is a scary thought, but I can't watch TV all the time. You get into reruns after a while. I spent most of my days thinking about my friends, primarily Jenny and Christine. Major duh. Those are my closest friends. As if you couldn't figure that out.

I spent a lot of time going over my first case with Christine. I had solved plenty of little crimes before. I solved theft crimes mostly, and some blackmailing crimes. I wasn't really into arson, or murder. Until some cheerleader chick had gotten herself killed. Christine had tracked me down the day after her death and practically forced me to help her out with it.

Can you imagine? Christine was, like, thirteen when that happened. She was 5'3. I was 5'8. Still, with her hair sticking out in every direction, her reading glasses down on the tip of her nose, her lips pursed into a thin smile, she was a pretty frightening sight. You would have agreed to help her too, if you had been in my spot.

We solved the case, of course. That's right, we rock! Oh yeah, go us! Police were pretty upset. Threatened to arrest us. We agreed to stick to small things after that. (AN- I know this goes against what K first told H when they met, but do you really think they would have told him the absolute truth right off the bat?)

As for me meeting Jenny, that was fun. I slammed into her as we were trying to go through the same door at the same time. My books went flying, _she_ went flying... I was more concerned about my books. She was pretty ticked. I ended up buying lunch for her just to make it up. We had an interesting discussion about flutes. As it turned out, she was a musician as well, so we talked about band all the time. It was even better when we discovered we had mutual friends. We hit it off almost instantly. Literally hit it off. Get it? Hit... I ran into her... hit off? Ah, never mind.

It was Monday afternoon that I sat contemplating all this, the TV off and Amelia and Frederick playing Clue next to my bed. Frederick was losing, but threatened to tell Marie something about her, so Amelia gave up. I cheered Frederick on for his resourcefulness. Amelia scowled at me, and then asked me to play a game of pick-up sticks with her.

And that is how weird gunwoman found us when she stormed into my cell. Her black hair was limper than last time, and she was now wearing a long, gray trench coat (I told you, criminals like the dramatics!), but otherwise she hadn't changed much. Oh, yeah, and she was seething with rage.

"Where's Marie?" she snapped at Amelia. Amelia scowled at her.

"Careful where you walk. We're playing pick-up sticks down here."

Weird gunwoman (Ace?) sneered at Amelia and kicked our sticks aside. I sat up and glared at her.

"Hey! I was winning!" I exclaimed, indignant. I think Ace might have rolled her eyes, but I couldn't tell through the sunglasses.

"Where's Marie?" she repeated. Amelia shrugged and began picking up the sticks and putting them away. Frederick stood up.

"I'll go get her."

Ace nodded her thanks and sat down on a bed, picking up the remote control and flipping the TV on. She sneered at the cartoons that appeared on the screen and flipped through the channels, apparently looking for something she liked. I'm sorry, but what is wrong with cartoons? I don't have anything against them, do you? I think they're kinda funny. So sue me.

"So... how are you?" I asked, leaning against the wall and looking at Ace. Ace looked startled, and her hand flew to her sunglasses. I raised an eyebrow. Weirdo.

"I'm fine. You?" she asked after a moments hesitation.

"Oh, hey, I was great until you pulled that stupid stunt of telling people where I was. I got slapped and punched for that. Otherwise, yeah, great. Nice cell, great food, good company. Or rather, there was until a moment ago," I stated. Ace's lips pulled back into a sneer of disgust, and she ignored me. Well, that was better than being slapped. And Marie said this chick liked me?

Marie breezed in, closely followed by Frederick, who shut the door. I swore mentally. One of these days, they would forget, and I would make a break for it. Where I would go, I didn't know. The town was probably crawling with Marie's lackies. Still, it would be a good try, right?

"Yes?" Marie drawled coolly. Ace stood up, dwarfing Marie by a couple of inches. Her face contorted with rage and she pulled a newspaper from her trench coat.

"This! It says that someone was murdered by a razor sharp ace of spades card!" Ace shrieked, absolutely furious. Marie regarded her coolly.

"So?"

"That's my calling card. I'm going to be blamed for this," Ace said, now calm and deadly. I watched with interest. Come on, this could be pretty cool! As if you wouldn't watch. I wished I had some popcorn.

"Is that a problem? You already have other deaths on your plate, my dear Ace."

"Yes, but I killed them. I didn't get the pleasure of killing Felicia Gardens," spat Ace. Marie shrugged.

"It can't be helped. And don't you think I'm paying you enough for your new assignment? Don't you get the pleasure of tracking and murdering an accomplished detective?" Marie purred. I stiffened up a bit. They were talking about Christine. I prayed that Ace hadn't caught her yet. 

Ace smiled thinly. "Ah yes... her... well, she put up a good chase. I caught her two days ago, though. Not as good of a fight, I'm afraid. She squealed like a little child, and then wouldn't give me the pleasure of screaming. Not once. I have photographs."

Marie reached out eagerly. "Let me see!"

Ace pulled out a packet of photos and held them out. As soon as Marie was about to grab them, she drew back. "Not until you apologize."

"I'm sorry," Marie said, sounding sincere. I knew that she was only saying it to get the photos.

"You're only saying that to get the photos," Ace snapped, thinking along the same lines as me. Were I not frozen in terror, I would have said something witty.

"Exactly what I was thinking," I said. Ok, not so frozen in terror and not so witty. Eh. Can't be perfect. Ace shot me a disgusted look and tossed the packet to Marie, who grabbed them eagerly. She flipped through them rapidly, a small smile on her face. She returned them, still smiling.

"So she's dead, then?"

"Oh yes. Quite."

My mouth dropped open in horror and shock. Christine was dead? Cautious Christine? Clever Christine? Cunning Christine? Kinky Christine- wait, that one didn't work. She definitely was not kinky. Gross. I slapped my mind for thinking such things, and then went back to mourning.

I found myself standing up quite calmly and asking to see the photos. Ace looked at me, surprised, but handed them over.

The first photo was just of Christine reading in what appeared to be a hotel. She was wearing a black sweater and black jeans. It looked as though the picture were taken through a window. I deduced that this must have been right before the attack.

The next photo was of Christine tied and gagged. The background was rather plain- gray, cement walls. It looked a little like my old cell. She didn't look scared. Her dark blue eyes were furious, and I imagined that if she got loose, she would attack her captor and rip her to shreds.

The third picture was a bit scarier, at least to me. Christine looked defeated. A long cut ran along her cheek and was bleeding heavily for the picture. Her hands were covered in blood also. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. Her black sweater was covered in dirt and blood.

The fourth picture made me fight back tears. There wasn't much in the picture. Just Christine leaning against a wall, and a gun being pressed to her head.

I had to gather up enough nerve to look at the last picture. Taking a deep breath, I studied it. Christine was laying sideways. Blood was... everywhere. Everywhere. The cement wall was no longer gray. It was red. My stomach quavered. Christine's black clothes were drenched in the red substance. Her hair was gross, and lay over her face. What was worse, there were chunks in her hair. Gray matter.

I shoved the pictures back at Ace and ran over to an unoccupied corner of the room and threw up quiet violently. I heaved everything that was in my stomach, and maybe a little more. A few stray tears trickled down my cheeks, and I licked them. I heard people laughing from behind me while I studied my vomit. A red haze began to seep over my eyes, and I stood and turned around.

Ace was cackling, a weird, witch-like laugh. Her hand wasn't on her gun. I watched her for a second longer before launching myself at her. She didn't have a chance. I tackled her before she even realized what was happening. I punched her a few times in the stomach, once in the face. I reached for her gun. I was going to kill her. I was angry. I was tough. I was distraught. I was-

Pinned down with a gun pointed at me. Ace was sitting on top of me, a silver pistol positioned in the middle of my forehead. Her other hand held my arms at my sides. Her sunglasses glinted in the eerie florescent light.

"Go ahead!" I shrieked, trying to pull myself loose. "Shoot me! Watch my brains splatter everywhere!"

Ace cackled again and then leaned closer to me. She kept the gun steady, I noted with small traces of dismay.

"She didn't scream once... not even when her brains flew everywhere."

I let out a rather feral yell and flipped Ace over on her back. Her gun went clattering out of reach while I punched her, straddling her on her stomach. I reached for her sunglasses, ready to rip them off and see what deformity lay beneath them. Perhaps she had burn scars like Marie.

Ace, however, had other plans. She pulled her knee towards her body, which slammed into my back. I lost balance and collapsed on top of her, momentarily letting go of her arms while I caught myself. Bad thing. I found myself pinned against the wall, her big gun, the one she wore on her waist, shoved into my stomach.

"Are you done?" Ace snarled. I tried to kick her, but she leapt nimbly out of the way. I made a wild grab for her sunglasses again. I wanted to see her deformity and mock her. Ace moved her head just in time.

"Leave my sunglasses alone," she snapped. I tried one more time, but then gave up. I was defeated. Ace let me go and I fell to the ground like a sack of fat elephants. Ace started to walk away, but I grabbed her ankle.

"I bet you're hideous beneath those sunglasses. I bet you're an ugly cretin."

Ace turned her head quickly and kicked me in the gut. I fell sideways, and she kicked me in the ribs. With a grunt, I curled in on myself. Again, she kicked me. This time in the head. I fell into unconsciousness gladly.

******************************************************************************************

I woke hours later. I had been placed on my bed, on top of the covers. Someone was sitting next to me, dragging a cool cloth across my head. I opened my eyes slowly, and Amelia came into focus, a look of concern on her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly. I watched her a moment more before shoving her hand away and sitting up. I pulled my knees up to my chin and looked at my shoes.

"What do you care?" I asked harshly. Amelia sighed from next to me and brushed a few strands out of my face.

"You're old enough to be my child," she said softly. I glanced at her sharply. Jeez, how old was this girl, forty?

"How old are you?" I questioned. Amelia smiled. 

"I'm thirty," she replied. "I know I don't look it. But I am."

"But," I stammered, "but that would make you fourteen when you had a child!"

Amelia nodded. "How do you think I turned to crime? I needed to support my Brian."

"What happened to him?"

"He was killed when he was eight by Marie's group of hoodlums."

I stared at her in shock. "Then why are you working for her?"

"I was working for her only opposition at the time. It was her threat. Join my side or everyone you care about dies."

I put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder before remembering that I was talking to a criminal. I drew away instantly. I didn't care about this woman. She was on the side that had killed... her. Killed her. Killed Christine.

I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't show sorrow in front of them. I hated them. I wanted them all to die. I didn't cry, anyway. I was too strong to cry. I never let anyone see my emotions. I was famous for it. 

"God... I want to die," I choked out, tears welling up in my eyes. Christine was gone. I wasn't going to see her again. Never laughing, never frowning... I would never fight with her again, or go through one of our moods. I would never giggle about a cute guy only to see her roll her eyes. I would never stare off into space bored as she explained why love was ridiculous at our age. I would never see her dissolve into a helpless grin as we rode around on my four-wheeler back home. I would never hear her shriek when we nearly run into a tree. I would never... never... just never.

Amelia must have sensed my distress, because she stood up quickly and gestured for Frederick to open the door. 

"We'll leave you alone for a while. We're locking you in, so don't try anything foolish."

I nodded mutely at her, still seeing a silent film show in my head. Amelia and Frederick practically ran out the door, leaving me to do whatever I wanted.

I looked at the games Amelia had left in the room. Cards, pick-up sticks, and Clue. While tears streamed down my face, I ripped up every single card in the deck, paying more maliciousness to the aces. I snapped the pick-up sticks in two as I sobbed. It was in deadly calm that I mutilated the Clue pieces and board.

Finally, a half hour after my tirade began, I sat back down on my bed. I was going to get Ace. No matter what it took. I was going to kill her or Marie. Either one. I would get my revenge.

I started laughing all of a sudden at a memory. Christine and I had been watching an action/adventure movie, and I had been all with it and everything. She looked bored, and I had asked why. She explained to me that "the good guys never die".

"Guess what Christine? You were wrong. The good guys do die! They die all the time!" I said shakily. I started to get angry. "They die every day! Every day! You were wrong! You lied to me! You told me the good guys don't die! I hate you! Liar!" I screamed.

Christine was wrong. The good guys died all the time. But nobody wants to acknowledge it.

Don't hurt me!!! Someone had to die... you can review and tell me how upset you are, or you can review and say how relieved you are that Christine is dead. If you do the latter, I'm coming after you. I was really fond of Christine... eh. Well, we all have to move on. She's dead, boo hoo, sob, ok! Moving on.


	7. A Brief Meeting

Chapter Seven: A Brief Meeting

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Watson's POV

Sunday passed without incident. Holmes stayed in his room, and I went for a walk and borrowed Zeke's speed boat and went out in the ocean to practice driving. I improved a bit, much to my joy, so now I could drive fairly well. At least, I didn't crash into anything. Zeke was out on his fishing boat and saw me go by. I don't think his laughing was an insult.

Monday, however, was an interesting experience. I still hadn't received a letter from Ace, so I was always carefully avoiding my room to give her time to leave something. Classes, however, I dreaded. I had Holmes in every single class, and what was worse, I sat next to him every single class.

I scowled at him, he scowled at me. Our tension crackled. Students scooted their desks away. It was like a match of wits, except without speaking. Whoever looked away first lost. Every single class, he looked away first.

Finally, after our last class, I stalked away from him, my head held high. I heard him pause, and then his footsteps quickened. Towards me. The wrong way for him to go. I continued to walk, ignoring him.

"Watson!" he called after me. I ignored him. It was his own fault. He refused- adamantly refused- to take up Kline's case. If she died, it would be his fault.

"Watson, listen to me. Jenny!"

I knew he was desperate if he was using my first name. I reacted to that. I turned and stared coolly at him.

"I told you already, Holmes. We're over. For good. No turning back. Now leave me alone. I'm hoping to catch Ace in my room."

He really had no good answer to that. I heard him spluttering behind me, but he didn't come after me again. I was glad. I guess a part of me was sad, but I was too angry at him to be upset. I wanted Kline back, and she was my first priority. Then Christine. She was somewhere in St. Ives, and it probably wouldn't take me long to find her. I knew Christine pretty well.

Kline, however, would be tough. Marie was nuts, and nuts people are harder to track. If I could keep Ace down long enough I might be able to find her, though. I just needed to find the assassin. That might prove even harder than finding Kline. 

So far, all of my detective work was about missing persons. Rather dull. If Holmes had been helping me, he would already have a plan of attack and where to look and-

No. I wasn't thinking about him. He had refused her. He had refused me. Like I had told him, we were over. If I kept telling myself that, then maybe I would actually believe it. Then maybe the pain would go away, and maybe I could live a normal life. Get a real boyfriend who took me to the movies and to the mall. Get real friends whose main priority was boys, shopping, and how I felt. Not criminals, not murder, not anything except themselves and me. 

I realized dimly that I was crying. I brushed the tears away angrily. I shouldn't be crying. I wanted this, more than anything else in the world. I just wanted to be normal for once. I wanted to be just a normal girl who had a cute boyfriend and really cool friends. At the same time, I knew it couldn't happen. I still wanted to be friends with Christine and Kline, after all. If I was still friends with them, then I would still be involved with crime and death and blackmail and arson and thievery. 

I reached my room and pressed my ear up against the door, listening. There was no sounds coming from my room. I couldn't even tell if the window was open. Sighing darkly, I shoved the door open. My room still looked the same. Nothing was moved. But the window was open. I had left it closed that morning. I smiled and rushed over to my bed, slamming the door shut behind me.

The envelope lay on my bed, looking as innocent as possible. As innocent as a black envelope can get, anyway. In neat, script writing, my name was on the envelope. I carefully opened the envelope, excited and scared at the same time. The familiar silver ink met my eyes and I began reading.

_So the lady has some claws after all? Quite a shocking bit of information, actually. I would have imagined Miss Watson as a trembling little pussycat, not a growling tiger. It seems I was somewhat wrong. Alas, I shall just have to move on. If you so desperately want information on your little Amanda, I would highly suggest you talk to me in person. Did you not know that these letters can be intercepted? After all, what would Marie do to me if she found out I was communicating with you and the great Sherlock Holmes? Tsk, tsk, Miss Watson. Do you ever think things through? I can see why you are forced to work with that man. He just keeps you around to make himself look good. His brilliance, your naivety... a perfect combination. Find me, Miss Watson, and I will tell you what I need. If you meet me at the cemetery tonight, I will speak to you, albeit briefly. I offer this only because you will never catch me. No weapons, and I don't want that obnoxious Holmes boy coming with you, either. A very fond farewell to you, Miss Watson. I've grown to enjoy this letters to you._

Ace the Assassin

I stared at the letter for a few moments, trying to push down the rage I felt. She actually had the nerve to address my partnership with Holmes, and what was more, she insulted it. She insulted me. I could have been furious. I could have destroyed things in my fury. But I couldn't. Not today. I had to harness my anger, and focus on the letter and try to find some clues.

Sitting down at my desk, I spread the letter out over the surface and began searching the letter. First off- Ace was way to cocky for her own good. She made mistakes because of her arrogance. Two- she had a tendency to get off topic just to insult people. Three- she didn't know Holmes and I weren't speaking. Four- she was working against Marie, sort of. She was more independent than she wished Marie to find out. Five- she wanted to meet me, wish could indicate a whole lot of things.

I pursed my lips and then began running my fingers over the letter, trying to figure out what Holmes would do to figure out more things. Nothing else came to me. I pulled my fingers back from the letter, only to discover that they were slightly smudged with silver ink. I grinned and realized that I wasn't so dim-witted as Ace seemed to think. I knew what the smudged ink meant. The letter hadn't been written so long ago. I may not be as smart as Holmes, but I could figure things out too, without his help.

I stood up from my desk, leaving the letter on it, and began pacing the floor. Did I dare meet Ace the Assassin? Just because I couldn't bring weapons didn't mean she couldn't. I might meet her in the cemetery and be shot down immediately. Her letters might just be trying to lure me out. She might be carefully phrasing her letters so that she looks like an independent, when she's really being paid by Marie to kill me. She might have a natural grudge about me and want me dead independently. She might be using me to get to Holmes. She might... she might... she might a huge duck who masquerades as a human to lure out young virgins and take them back as bounty for the duck king!

I don't know where that came from. I really didn't. Well, I did, actually. It was a story that I wrote when I was eight. But I knew that Ace was not a huge duck. I was getting hysterical. And very stupid because of it. I was tired.

I stopped pacing and sat down on my bed, burying my head into my hands. My mind was way too worked up. I need to rest, I needed to lie down. So I did. I buried my head into my pillow and drifted off, welcoming the dreams of fuzzy yellow ducks swimming in a pond as a beautiful girl sat on the water, feeding them serenely. It was perfect.

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I woke sometime after eleven, with the moon high overhead. Yawning, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and stretched. My back ached and I heard the bones crack with satisfaction. I need to go see a chiropractor sometime. 

Standing up, I glanced down at my clothes. They were bright, cheerful, and would stick out in the dark. They wouldn't do. So I changed into a black turtleneck and jeans and tugged on black combat boots that I had stolen from Kline during the course of the show. I wanted to wear them one last time before I saw her again. I had decided that tonight I would find out where Kline was, even if I had to beat it out of Ace the Assassin. I was ready for this. I was prepared to beat Ace anyway. She had killed Miss Gardens violently. We had found out during classes that the school was being shut down because of Miss Gardens death. I was losing my school. I hated Ace. She was taking away everything. I was ready.

I climbed out the window and went down the path, my eyes not seeing anything. I knew I was in a haze, but I didn't really care either. I wanted to meet Ace and get the information out of her. Then turn her into the police. I wanted to watch her rot in jail. I wanted to see her scream. I wanted to see her bleed. I had no clue why I was being so morbid.

I reached the cemetery quickly enough. It was really close to the church, actually. It wasn't a very large cemetery, predictably. St. Ives wasn't that large, after all. But it did have several rows, not to mention a nice little crypt near the back. I began walking among the rows, looking at the epitaphs and the names on the gravestones. It was creepy being at a graveyard that late at night. Knowing that dead bodies rested underneath your feet, their faces frozen for eternity, their hands and arms only bone and that their remaining skin was stretched tightly over their faces, making them look like they were screaming. I shuddered.

I found Ace at the very back of the cemetery, knelt before one of the gravestones. Her head was bowed, with her limp black hair hanging in her face. She was wearing a black trench coat andin the light of the moon I could see a huge gun positioned on her hip. Sunglasses covered her eyes, weirdly enough. She wore thigh high boots over her pants. If she hadn't been a murderer, I might have admired her. Even though she appeared to be praying in front of the gravestone, she had a sort of feral grace about her. She wasn't pretty, that was for sure, but she looked... skilled. At ease. She scared me.

"Ace?" I asked softly. I really did hope I hadn't thought all these nice things about a complete stranger. The woman I thought as Ace didn't look up from her praying, or whatever it was.

"I am. You are Watson," she said with a strange accent. Bulgarian, I realized slowly. That was what the gas station man had said. I nodded.

"That's right. You going to talk to me face to face, or are you going to pray the entire time?" I snapped. Ace crossed herself before standing up, a slight smile playing across her pale features. With her standing I could get a full view of her, and I had to admit, she had an excellent taste in clothing. With the black trench coat, thigh high boots, leather pants and what appeared to be a leather shirt, she looked pretty darn cool. The gun just added to the effect.

"You liked The Matrix, I see," I commented after taking in her whole outfit. Ace grinned that weird, ghastly grin.

"I suppose you could say that. I found it too far fetched, actually, but the stunts and the clothes were very intriguing, to say the least," she said back, her voice very soft and lazy. I shrugged. I had liked that movie a lot. The stunts and the clothes were very cool, and the storyline was just awesome. However, I wasn't there to discuss movies.

"Where's Kline?" I asked quickly. Ace chuckled quietly and moved swiftly. I followed her with my eyes as she sat down on top of a gravestone. If she started reaching for her gun, I was out of there.

"You did not bring your Holmes?" she questioned. I scowled. That wasn't the answer I was looking for.

"Holmes isn't involved with this case anymore," I informed her. Ace looked at me sharply. I thought she looked surprised, but I couldn't tell through her sunglasses or in the poor light.

"He left the case?"

"He doesn't want to find Kline. But I do. Where is she?" I repeated. Ace, however, didn't seem to hear. Her lips were pursed and she was drumming her hand on her lap, the fingers moving swiftly. A deck of cards appeared suddenly in her right hand and she began shuffling.

"This changes things," Ace stated calmly. I scowled.

"It changes nothing. You wanted to meet with me."

"Because I thought you would report back to Sherlock and tell him everything, so he would figure out this case," she said softly. I growled in frustration.

"Listen, Ace, it's great to know that your confidence in my abilities is so lacking, but I can solve this case as well as Holmes can. Now tell me where she is!" I shouted. Ace was at my side in a heartbeat, her hand over my mouth.

"You must be quiet, little one. Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him," she hissed in my ear. I blinked.

"James, chapter one, verse fourteen," I muttered softly. I felt Ace shake her head.

"Twelve, actually. Think about that, Miss Jenny. Think about it's meaning."

"I will," I promised. I noted that she was positioned just behind me. With the darkest scowl, I shoved my elbow back and connected with one of her lower ribs. She released me with a soft 'oof!' and stumbled backwards, clutching her ribs. I spun and slammed her down to the ground, pinning her. I removed her gun from her hip and tossed it aside. Ace stared up at me, her mouth agape in surprise and (was it my imagination?) just a bit of fear.

"I'll think about it's meaning after you tell me where Kline is!" I insisted. Ace didn't move. She didn't tell me. I punched her in the face, as hard as I could. Her head snapped back but she didn't resist. In the dim light I could tell that her face was darkening where I punched her.

"Tell me," I persisted. Ace bit down on her lips in adamant refusal. I shoved my fist into her ribcage. She whimpered but said nothing.

"Tell me! Oh, please, just tell me! Please! That's all I want from you! Please... please tell me," I said, my voice dissolving into tears. I collapsed off to the side of her, allowing her to dive away. She snatched up her huge gun as she rolled to the side and pulled out a silver gun from her trench coat, pointing them both at me as she knelt, one knee folded beneath her.

"I will tell you nothing, little cretin. A fool shows his annoyance at once, but a prudent man overlooks an insult," she spat. I stared at her through my tears, or more specifically, her guns. Ace stared down at me for a moment, then put her silver gun away and put the big gun back on her hip. With a quick scowl at me, she turned and fled, her coat streaming out behind her. I stared after her. I wanted to follow her, but couldn't.

I must have laid there for a few minutes before someone picked me up and wrapped me in a blanket. They led me away into a small house where they made me a cup of tea. I sipped it for a few minutes before looking to see who my savior was.

It was Zeke, who was currently staring at me in concern. I tried to smile at him, but instead felt a few tears leak down my face.

"Aw, Jenny, what is it now?" he asked gently, coming around the table and handing me his handkerchief.

"I just lost the chance to find out where one of my best friends is," I sobbed. Zeke didn't ask, bless his soul, merely hugged me and patted my hair gently. I sat and cried into his shoulder for a few minutes before the tears finally stopped and I had the courage to look up at him again.

"How'd you know I was in the cemetery?" I questioned hoarsely. Zeke shrugged.

"I live right next to it. I saw something in the moonlight from my window and looked out. Some girl was running away and there you were, lying among the dead. That isn't a good place for a young girl to be, Jenny," he scolded. I sighed.

"I know. But that was where she asked me to meet her."

"Care to tell old Zeke what is going on?"

I related the whole tale to him, not much caring who found out anymore. I told him how Kline was captured, how Christine had run away, how Marie was behind it all, how Miss Gardens had been killed, how Holmes had abandoned me, the case, and Kline, and how Ace had been my last chance of figuring out where Kline was. Zeke listened patiently and gave me a big hug when I was all done.

"Poor Jenny, having to deal with that all," he said sadly. I sniffled.

"You know what really sucks, Zeke? This stupid case has changed me, too. I've never hit anyone before. I hate violence. But I punched Holmes and I punched Ace twice," I told him. Zeke shook his head.

"It seems to me like both deserved it."

"I'm never going to figure this stupid case out without Holmes! God, he would have figured out how to get information from Ace! All I did was hit her," I wailed, the tears returning with a vengeance. Zeke sighed.

"Maybe you got all the information out of Miss Ace that you could ever need, Jenny. Maybe she told you something without coming out and saying it. You did say that she wasn't exactly working for this Marie. Maybe somebody was watching you, someone who was loyal to Marie. Maybe Ace is being punished right now for talking to you. Look at it from both sides, Jenny, before you hit and hate her. Same for your Holmes. Maybe he just couldn't take it anymore, like your Christine girl. She just dealt with it differently. She ran, but he abandoned. Maybe you're the bravest out of all of them. Keep working Jenny. You'll find your friend eventually," he said soothingly.

"I hate them all," I grumbled. Zeke nodded.

"I'm sure you do, Jenny. You have every right to, right now anyway. But try to understand where they're coming from. They're scared and don't know how to deal with it."

"Ace wasn't scared! She could have told me where Kline was!"

"You're wrong, Jenny. She was so scared of Marie that she couldn't tell you. You said it yourself- Marie is a psychotic murderer. I'd be pretty scared if I were in Ace's position," he commented airily. I sighed but didn't say anything. Zeke just didn't understand. He hadn't been there.

"Thanks for the tea, Zeke. I'm sorry to have woken up you and your wife," I said. I stood up and got ready to leave. Zeke stood also.

"The missus passed on years ago, Jenny. And it's not a problem," he responded calmly. I looked at him sadly.

"I'm sorry, Zeke. How'd she die?"

"We got into a fight and she took herself out to the docks and drowned herself. She didn't know how to deal with it," he informed me. I choked down the tears. Poor Zeke. I hadn't even thought that maybe his wife was dead. Maybe he did know what he was talking about when he said all those things about fear and running away and abandoning people.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. I hugged him tightly around the waist, kissed his whiskery cheek, waved good-bye, and then ran out the door. He waved at me from his window as I ran down the street and back to the school.

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I only got three hours of uninterrupted sleep as it was. The rest was plagued with nightmares. Finally, around six am, I got up for good and sat down at my desk, running over what had happened between Ace and I the night before. The only thing I could figure out through my sleep deprived brain was that the last thing Ace had said to me was another Bible verse, this one being Proverbs, chapter twelve, verse sixteen. Yay for me. I figured something out.

Holmes, of course, would have solved the entire mystery from just that conversation. I could have been jealous, or even upset. But I didn't bother. What Ace didn't know is that she had given me encouragement from the night before. Her little Bible verse about perseverance had struck home, and I wasn't about to go wallowing in pity just yet.

I had a mystery to solve. 


	8. Following Matrix Girl

This is a different sort of chapter from before. It is not a Kline chapter, nor a Watson chapter, not even a Holmes chapter. A little Ace for you, maybe? A new POV, also. 3rd person... have fun... it is a short chapter, but only because this chapter is a tie-in to the next chapter.

Chapter Eight: Following Matrix Girl

She walked with a steady rhythm, never bothering to hesitate in her steps. Ace Lennox, ace murderer, would never show hesitation. Hesitation betrayed weaknesses. And when you were in Marie's little complex of criminals, you were very careful to be confident and unafraid.

It was now Wednesday, two days since Ace had met with the Watson girl. For her efforts she had received two cracked ribs and a bruised cheek. The doctor had been surprised to see her when she showed up at his door. It wasn't often that a strange woman with a huge gun on her hip showed up a doctor's door requesting medical attention. People usually thought people with guns could take care of themselves.

Ace had spent all of Tuesday in her hotel room at the Fish Fry (odd name for a hotel, she thought), sorting things out in her head. She couldn't give the Watson girl anymore clues. She had known that Marie's most loyal henchman, a grisly ex-soldier by the name of Johnson, was watching them. Like hers, his gun had gleamed in the moonlight. With her expert eyes, she had known immediately. The clues that she had given her, though, should have been enough. She would give the Watson girl one more day to figure it out. On Wednesday she would go to the church. On Wednesday the case would be over.

Then the phone call from Marie had interrupted it all. She had answered the phone slowly, almost unsure of herself. Marie had requested an audience with her on Wednesday. Ace had agreed. Ace would never disagree with Marie. Marie scared her.

So now Ace was in what she dubbed "Criminals Complex", meeting Marie in a private, secluded room. Ace knew what this room was for. She had watched two of her henchmen get killed in it. Ace fingered her big gun with the tip of one finger, while reassured at the weight of the silver Colt in her trench coat pocket. Jennifer Watson had told her that she had liked The Matrix. Ace supposed that her outfit did mimic it in some ways. But she didn't much care, either.

Ace opened the door to the private, secluded room decisively, betraying none of the emotions that rippled beneath her skin. She kept her eyes cool and blank (not that anyone could see them), and made sure that they didn't even blink when Marie pressed a gun against her forehead. The cool metal was both frightening and soothing. It could all be over soon.

"Marie," Ace said softly, dropping the Bulgarian accent and allowing the natural American to come through. Marie smiled sickeningly and pressed the gun closer.

"Ace... a pleasure to see you," Marie beamed. Her smile was painful to look at. It would have scared Ace, normally, but she was too tired to be scared anymore.

"I would say the same, but the gun on my forehead seems to destroy that pleasure. Odd," Ace remarked. Marie made a noise in her throat and pulled Ace into the room, slamming the door behind her. Despite Marie's tiny stature, only about 5'2 or so, she shoved Ace into a chair and kept the gun trained on her.

"Why did you meet with her, Ace? Why were you trying to tell her where Kline was?" she snarled, her voice raising. Ace smiled.

"You told me to kill Jennifer Watson. I am using her emotions against her, and luring her to me," Ace answered. The cool smile did not relax any of Marie's rage.

"Johnson told me you allowed Jennifer to hurt you. Are you so easy to beat as that? You could have killed her right then, Ace! Johnson could have, I could have! The Colt was at your disposal. While she was hitting you, you could have pulled it out and sent the bullet into her chest! But you didn't? Are you weak, Ace? Did you actually feel something for her? Do you pity her?" Marie shrieked. The gun's hammer was pulled back. Ace stared down the barrel of the gun calmly.

"That would have no drama. You wanted them to suffer, you told me. I will get her soon. I will torture her and send the pictures to Sherlock. That night was not the right time. Soon, Marie, soon. I will do what you're paying me for. I killed that Christine girl, did I not? You got pleasure out of how much she suffered, did you not? I merely wish for Jennifer to go through the same thing," Ace returned. Marie shoved the gun against her temple.

"But do you pity her, Ace? Do you want to save her?"

"No. I want her dead. I want Kline dead as well, for what she did to me that day."

Marie seemed satisfied with this answer and pulled back, away from Ace. The gunwoman showed no sign of relief or even fear. Marie then fired the gun. The bullet soared past Ace and landed in the concrete walls. Ace did not even flinch. Ace never flinched.

"I want her dead, Ace. I want her dead by tomorrow, you got it? If not, I'm turning you into the police for killing Felicia Gardens and I'll show them the pictures of Christine. I'm sure you've disposed of her body by now, correct?" Marie snapped, putting the gun away. Ace nodded slowly.

"In a sense, yes I have."

"Good. Now get out of here before I decide to hurt your little Kline to punish you. Why do you insist on leaving her unharmed, Ace?" inquired Marie. Ace shrugged as she stood.

"As I said, no one pays for broken merchandise."

Marie sneered at her and shoved her out of the door. Ace nodded her farewells and walked down the halls of Criminals Complex. A few of the criminals stared at her, surprised that she was still alive. They had heard the gunshot, after all. Ace merely glanced at them, and they scurried away to do whatever Marie had instructed them to do.

When Ace left the complex, she was still alive. She should have been surprised, but she didn't care anymore. If Marie had shot her, all it would have meant was her death. It was possible that Jenny would find Kline and get killed anyway. Ace wasn't exactly essential to the plan. She was merely part of it.

Ace returned to her hotel room at exactly three pm. The service began at ten, a special service for people who had lost people they loved to the sea. After the service was over, they were taking the people out on boats and they were going to put candles onto the water. She supposed it was sweet. She was attending, even though she hadn't lost anyone to the sea. 

Sitting on her bed, Ace ordered some food from the local restaurant. A salad with croutons and a side of breadsticks. With a milk. She wanted to keep her bones strong. She hoped they would be strong enough for tonight. Tonight was the big show. She knew that Marie was taking Kline away tonight, on a boat, and either selling her or tossing her overboard. Ace would be there. She would watch. If things went according to plan, Jenny would be there too. And, if everything went perfectly, even beyond perfectly, Sherlock would be, too.

The food arrived and Ace ate it quietly, in complete silence, reading a book on boats and how they worked. Dull reading, but essential to her plans. She just finished the section on the boats engine when she realized she was done with her meal. She went into the bathroom and washed her hair. Some of the black dye came out. One more washing and it would be completely gone.

Four pm. She had hours to blow. Changing into semi-normal clothes that wouldn't attract any attention whatsoever, she left the hotel room through the window. She had left her guns behind, which might have been a bad idea, if her destinations had been different. But she wasn't going anywhere to be hurt or attacked. It wasn't time yet.

Ace spent four hours visiting with people in town, talking with them at their houses, helping them cook dinner, and babysitting their young ones. She didn't even really like children that much. She helped Widow Hannah remove weeds in her garden. She helped Zeke oil his speedboat, even though he wouldn't be using it again until Saturday. She helped Little Susie fix her doll. She, in general, had a peaceful and fun day. After Wednesday she probably wouldn't see them ever again. She would have to flee St. Ives. She would miss them.

Ace returned to her room at nine and began rummaging through her wardrobe. She pulled out a pair of black leather pants and tugged them on. She wasn't actually all that fond of leather, but wore it anyway. For her shirt, she chose a long-sleeved black sweater, and then pulled on her black trench coat and thigh high boots. Reaching into the back of the closet, she pulled out her large gun and attached it to it's holster. She then put it on around her waist. The gun would bounce against her leg, but she had grown used to that. She pulled out her silver Colt and hid it in her trench coat. Then, with a dark sigh, she pulled out a different weapon. A deck of cards with razor edges. Digging around in her closet, she found the harness for it. She wrapped the harness around her right thigh and slid the deck into it. It was the weapon she would use if desperate.

By the time she was finished, it was fifteen minutes until the service began. With one last glance at the mirror (she really did look impressive, she noted dully), she exited her room and went to church.

The most boring chapter in the world, right? I hope you're sufficiently confused by now. Is Ace bad or good? And what exactly is she planning? And why does she know how to fix dolls? And what is up with her wardrobe? Has she seen The Matrix one too many times? Don't worry, the next chapter is even better... this was just the set-up.


	9. Carrots and Churches

Chapter Nine: Carrots and Churches

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Watson's POV

I spent part of Tuesday in my room, analyzing the letter and my conversation with Ace. I had written down everything we had said and done. I even wrote down my conversation with Zeke so I could remember his advice. It wasn't often that I was this driven. But without Holmes figuring everything out for me, I had to be. And, surprise of all surprises, I wasn't too bad at it. I decided I just hadn't even bothered to use my brain before on a case. Probably because I had always had Holmes there to do that for me.

The second part of Tuesday I spent trying to find a room. The school was shut down for good. As it turned out, it wasn't actually a school. The cops searched through Miss Gardens files and discovered that criminals were running the school and that most of the students were criminals themselves. The cops were stunned to discover that they seemed to be working for a notorious criminal who was a lot like a mob boss. They announced her name was Marie (big surprise), and that all the 'teachers' and criminal students were working for her. I watched as Cherry was taken away in a police car, satisfied that she was going to get what was coming to her and that Marie was running out of time.

I finally found a room at a hotel called The Fish Fry (odd name for a hotel, I thought). I was only staying there until I could come back home, which was in two days or so. I was running out of time to find Ace and force the information out of her. I knew Kline was in town, but I didn't know where.

By Wednesday I was sick and tired of reading the same sheet of paper over and over again. I knew Ace was far too arrogant for her own good, not willing to attack me, knew the Bible pretty darn decently, was independent yet scared of Marie, had two guns but kept one of them hidden in her trench coat, was really dangerous (that was a theory, but come on), and could be taken by surprise. Good for me. If only I could figure out where she was!

With a dark sigh I left my hotel room. It was roughly four pm when I did so. I needed to get out there and find some clues, without Holmes. I knew it wouldn't exactly be easy, because Holmes had natural charisma and ease when it came to things like this, but I was willing to try. I wrote a list of places to stop.

First, I was going to stop at some citizens homes and ask if they knew anything about the mysterious woman who had been walking around. Then I would stop at the gas station again and talk to the manager. Then I would look at hotel rosters, and then... well, after that I was doomed to wandering around. Still, it was a pretty good plan. Better than what Holmes was doing. He was probably moping in some hotel, whining about how horrible his life was. Jerk.

So I left. I worked systematically, starting at the house right across the street from the Fish Fry. A woman named Widow Hannah lived there. She was struggling to pull up some weeds in her garden. I felt sort of sorry for her. She was a really old woman, probably ninety or something, and just didn't have the muscle to yank those weeds out of the ground.

"Um, hi," I said gently, leaning on the fence. Widow Hannah looked up at me, a few strands of her gray hair falling out of the handkerchief that she had tied it up with. Her dark brown eyes narrowed at me and she put her hands on her hips.

"I told you, I don't sell my carrots anymore," Hannah snapped at me. I raised my hands defensively.

"I don't want your carrots, Miss Hannah," I told her. Hannah stood up, dusting off her ugly dress with a pair of thin, wrinkled hands.

"So now my carrots aren't good enough for you, are they? Don't think you need old Widow Hannah's carrots? Think they're poisoned, do you?" she screamed at me. I shook my head quickly.

"Not at all! Your carrots are quite good, I-"

"You stole my carrots and ate them, didn't you! Thief! I'll call the police on you!" Hannah shouted, her voice cracking. I backed away slowly.

"I just wanted to know if you had seen a woman walking around town with a gun, that's all! I promise I didn't steal your carrots, but I'm sure they're quite good. You put a lot of hard work into this garden," I informed her. Widow Hannah regarded me suspiciously for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Yes, yes I did. I haven't seen any woman walking around with a gun. I'll tell you if I do. Would you like to help me weed my garden, little girl?" Hannah asked me. I sighed. This woman was weird.

"I can't, sorry. I have to go see other people," I told her. Widow Hannah looked at me sadly and then nodded, waving me away. I walked away slowly and glanced back at her. She looked like she was crying. I felt sorry for her, but kept going.

The next person on my list was a single mother with five children. I would have hated to be in her position. I knocked on her door and waited for a few minutes. The door opened slowly and a forty-ish woman poked her head out.

"Yes?" she asked gently. Her voice was really quite gentle and pretty. I smiled at her.

"Hi, my name is Jenny. I was just wondering if you had seen a woman walking around carrying a gun?" I asked. Not very smooth, but straight forward. The woman paused and opened the door all the way.

"Why don't you come inside for a while? I have a kettle of hot water on the stove, and I can make you some tea while we talk, all right?" the woman offered. I paused, but accepted her offer and followed her into the house.

"My name is Lily Greken. I'm sure you've heard of me around town," Lily said softly. I nodded.

"Not your name, but that you have a lot of children," I said. Lily smiled a sad, soft smile and offered me a seat in her kitchen. I accepted gratefully and watched as she plodded around the kitchen. She wore a very simple, flowered dress but it looked very nice on her exceptionally thin figure.

"Yes, I suppose you have. And you probably know their names, too. Timothy, Jasmine, Sarai, James, and-"

"And Remus, after the Harry Potter book series which your eldest children read faithfully and you enjoy as well," I finished for her. Lily smiled at me and handed me a cup of tea. I realized how very sad and tired she looked.

"Indeed. James and Remus are twins, actually. Timothy and Jasmine named them. They're only eleven. James and Remus are four, and Sarai is seven. I think you would like Sarai. She reminds me of you, somewhat," Lily mentioned, sipping her own tea as she took a seat. I stared at her, surprised.

"But I've never met you before."

"I know. But I've seen you and watched you. When you're the mother of five children, you don't get a lot of social contact with anyone. You have a tendency to watch people more often than not," she commented slowly. I shrugged, not really knowing.

"So, do you know anything about the woman I asked you about?" I questioned, trying to get back on the main subject. Lily paused, and then nodded slowly.

"Yes, I do."

I perked up. "Really? Do you know where she's staying?"

"Yes..."

"Could you tell me? Please."

Lily sighed and stood up, slamming her tea cup down. She walked over to the small window and stared out at it. I glanced out it and saw that her children were in the backyard, playing.

"My husband died three years ago," Lily said suddenly. I was surprised by this change of subject, but Lily continued before I could say anything.

"When he died, I thought I would die too. I lost all my friends after he died. They didn't want to be around a sad, tired woman who was dying on the inside. They didn't want to be with her children, either, who were loud and rambunctious. They didn't want to look at me and see that I was getting sick. So they left, and I've been friendless for three years."

"I'm sorry," I said slowly, not understanding what this had to do with anything. Lily ignored me.

"Until one day, a week or so ago, a girl showed up at my door. She looked as sad as I did, and as tired as I felt. She also had a very large gun that hung from her waist. I started crying, figuring she was going to kill me and my children. The girl looked at me and told me that she wouldn't hurt me, and I should stop crying. She said she hadn't eaten for a while and was on the run, and could she please come in? I let her in, of course, because I was afraid she would kill me if I didn't. Once inside she cooked me dinner while I held onto my children and cried. She played with James and taught Jasmine how to French braid. She saw the photo of my husband on the mantel and knew what had happened to him. She gave me a hug, and told me to go ahead and cry for him, because it looked like I never had. And I did. I cried for him and my children. And she understood.

"She came back almost every day after that, playing with the children and just chatting with me. I had a friend again. She even encouraged me to go to the service at the church tonight. So I'm not going to give her over to you just so you can kill her, or whatever you plan on doing to her," Lily snapped. I was shocked. Tears were coursing down her face, and her gray eyes were staring at me violently. I stood up.

"I just want to know where she's staying. I'm not going to kill her."

"I know you're blaming her for the murder of that Gardens woman. It's not true. I'm not letting you take her to the police," Lily cried, stepping away from me. I shook my head.

"I just want to know where she is staying!" I exclaimed, stepping towards her. Lily threw a spoon at me and screamed. I sighed in desperation.

"Fine! Fine, I'll leave! Wait until she kills you, then we'll see how good a friend she really is!" I shouted. I stormed out the backdoor and left Lily alone.

How could a nice woman like Lily think that someone like Ace could ever be her friend? Ace was as evil as they came. She had to be a good actress, then, if she could befriend someone. Or perhaps Lily was just so desperate for a friend that she could ignore how evil Ace was. I sincerely hoped she figured it out before Ace killed her.

Next stop was Zeke's house. He hadn't seen her, he said, and asked me to help him oil his/my speedboat and then join him at the local church service for those who had lost loved ones to the ocean. I declined. I still had people to talk to.

I spoke to a man whose wife was napping and whose child was screaming because her dolly was broken. He looked absolutely distraught, but said he hadn't heard anything from Ace for a few days. He warned me to stay away from her because Susie (his daughter) absolutely adored the woman. I rolled my eyes and stormed away. The people in that town were absolutely blind to the pure evilness of Ace!

After I had visited every last house and either gotten warnings to stay away from her or claims that they didn't know her, I headed for the hotels. There were three in town, the Fish Fry, the Beluga Inn, and Eight Arms Inn. The town had a whole fish theme going, which was to be expected. They were, after all, a fishing community. Neither the Beluga Inn or the Eight Arms Inn had Ace signed in. With dread I walked back to the Fish Fry at eight o' clock and read the roster. Yup, Ace was at the Fish Fry. I pursed my lips and spoke to the manager of the hotel, who refused to tell me which room she was in. Needless to say, I was pissed.

I went up to my room in absolute fury. My searches had been for nothing, and Kline might be dead by now, and who knew where Christine was, and Ace was somewhere in the hotel but I couldn't find her. Groaning in anger and sadness, I fell onto my bed and glanced at the clock. Reaching over, I set the alarm for ten thirty, figuring I would continue after a little nap. I fell asleep quickly, only to end up having dreams about Ace and fish. Whee.

******************************************************************************************

My alarm went off at ten o' clock and I sat up slowly, slapping it off. I was so tired but I needed to find Ace, hopefully by tonight. Unfortunately, even though I knew that she was in this hotel, I couldn't exactly go searching for her. The manager would kill me.

Running a brush through my hair, I walked over to my desk and began reading through the notes I had taken. I skimmed her letters, having memorized them by now. I read through our conversation, smirking at the Bible verses. I read through Zeke's conversation and sighed in hopelessness. Then I began to mentally run over my conversations with the town citizens.

_'Carrots, dead husbands, little dolls, oil, dinners, big gun...'_

'Carrots, only friend, wife napping, boat, milk, silver gun...'

'Carrots, church service, Susie, church service, church service, Bible verses...'

It hit me quite suddenly. I wanted to hit myself for not realizing it sooner. Running to my closet, I threw on my windbreaker and a worn pair of sneakers and ran out the door of the hotel. Ace would be at the church! How much stupider could I get? She had purposely rattled off those Bible verses to lead me to the church. She had even been praying in the graveyard!

I ran as fast as I could. The service had started at ten, and it was now ten forty. I had spent ten minutes dilly-dallying, as Holmes had put it. If I didn't get there soon, Ace would be gone, and so would my chance to ever see Kline again.

I ran, and ran, and- slammed right into somebody. I fell to the ground, as did the person I ran into. I didn't have time, though, to help them up. I scrambled to my feet and was about to take off again when the person grabbed me.

"Watson, stay still for a minute!" Holmes snapped at me, holding onto my wrist. I wheeled around to face him. So he was the one I ran into. I really didn't care. I could have run into the Pope and not cared.

"Let me go, Holmes. I'm about fifteen minutes from solving this case," I snarled at him. He looked surprised and let me go. I started running immediately, but Holmes followed.

"You figured it out?" he called after me. I rolled my eyes.

"If I find Ace now, she'll take me to where Kline is!"

"Really?"

"God, yes! Shut up, Holmes! Why don't you go wallow in misery somewhere, ok?"

Ok, a little low for me. But if I reached the church quick enough, Kline would be with me again and we could find Christine, and then everything would be all right. Holmes didn't give up that easily, though.

"I don't think so. You're going to need help!" Holmes said. I could see the church now. The lights were on inside, and people were singing. 

"I didn't need your help to solve this case."

"You took your precious time at it, then!"

"Ace wouldn't show me until today! She told me so."

"How?"

"She recited Bible verses."

"You think that's a clue?!"

"A better clue than you found, Holmes."

I ran up the steps to the church and ran inside. The doors had been open. People were scattered throughout the church, and they were holding candles. A few were crying. I saw Lily in the back pew, with a woman sitting next to her. A woman with black hair and wearing a black trench coat. I walked over slowly, silently, with Holmes following.

Apparently, they were in a time of prayer, because Ace's eyes were closed (I think- her sunglasses were still on), as were Lily's and her children's. I smiled grimly and put a firm hand on Ace's shoulder. She looked up at me slowly, a small smile on her own lips.

"Where is she?" I hissed. Ace stared at me for a moment, then looked over at Lily, who was watching the entire ordeal. They seemed to communicate. I was a bit surprised at that, but before I could react, Lily was holding me and Ace was running out the doors. Holmes watched in surprise as I shoved Lily towards him and followed Ace. Unfortunately, she had the lead on us and was pretty darn fast.

She was headed for the docks, I realized slowly as my feet slammed down on the ground in a swift rhythm. I heard Holmes behind me, but didn't pay attention to him. Fine time for him to show up. That way he could take all the credit should I solve the case.

I reached the docks in time to see Ace clambering onto a large boat that was already sailing off. I couldn't figure out how she had gotten out there.

"Speedboat," Holmes said from behind me, seemingly reading my thoughts. He pointed in the darkness towards a small boat that was now attached to the larger one. I nodded slowly, and then went over to Zeke's speedboat.

Jumping in, I grabbed a life jacket and threw it to Holmes. He caught it, looking at me in surprise.

"If you're coming, but that on and get in," I snapped. As angry as I was with him, he deserved to come. Kline was his friend too, even if he had abandoned her. He tossed it on (orange really wasn't his color) and climbed in, getting in the seat near the back. I looked grimly at him, and then turned on the boat. It came to life with a soft putter, and was soon ready to go.

Staring resolutely towards the large boat that was at least a mile away, I turned my own boat towards it and took off. 


	10. A Startling Bit of Info

Things end with a boom...

Chapter Ten: A Startling Bit of Info

__

Watson's POV

The sea was rough that night, and I wondered how the people at the church service intended to set their candles on it. It was rolling and rocky, and generally making Holmes sick in the back of the boat. I was only slightly amused and delighted when he leaned over the side of the boat and heaved.

"Not a sailing man, Holmes?" I shouted back at him. I heard a weak chuckle.

"I guess not," he shouted up at me. I grinned but shook my head. I had washed my hands of him. If I started acting this way around the man who left my friend for dead, I would fall in love again. That wouldn't be a good thing. I instead focused on the boat we were chasing.

It had a mile advantage over us, but it had a really crappy speed. It was too big to move fast, and with this tiny little zip-boat, we were on it's tail pretty quickly. It was only about a quarter of a mile away at this point. I hit the gas and heard my boat come to life with a cute little _vrooom!_ I grinned and kept going. We were so close.

We finally reached the point where we were driving alongside it. I started looking for ways to get on to the boat immediately. If Ace could do it, so I could I. I wondered whose boat we were next to while searching. It was a very nice boat, actually, if bigger and more suited for leg room than for speed. It was painted a dark red which made it especially pretty. 

I didn't get much time to admire it, though, as it suddenly changed course- and nearly slammed into my little boat. I screamed, Holmes screamed, and the boat screamed as I spun the steering wheel swiftly. We just barely avoided getting hit, but we did get drenched from the spray of water. Spluttering, I looked over to the deck of the ship.

To my complete surprise, Marie stood there, a gun in her hand. Her dark hair was drenched with salt water and she had a maniacal little grin on her face as she aimed and fired. I ducked just in time, and the bullet went whizzing past my head. I shrieked in terror but stood up again, intent on steering the boat. Looking quickly over my shoulder, I saw that Holmes looked furious.

"Marie!" he screamed over the roar of the boats. Marie looked over at him and smiled.

"Jealous, Sherlock, that you don't get your own bullet? Here, let me ease that jealousy!"

The trigger was pulled back again, but Holmes had been expecting it, and he ducked. The bullet fell into the water, harmless. I looked over at Marie, who scowled at her gun and tossed it into the ocean. I was surprised, and she could tell.

"No more bullets!" she yelled to me. I nodded slowly. Well, this was a good thing. She couldn't shoot at us anymore. I knew she probably had another gun on her somewhere, but didn't much care. If she killed me, all that it meant was I would never see Kline again, but Holmes would save her. As long as Kline was all right, I would be fine.

Suddenly, Marie killed the engines on her boat. I killed mine after driving about ten feet past her. The change of atmosphere was slightly scary. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, and the lack of sound... it was absolutely terrifying. I felt a shiver go up my spine. Marie stared at me in the darkness.

"So, you found me, did you Jennifer?" Marie called to me in the ebony velvet of night. I shrugged.

"I wasn't looking for you, Marie. I was looking for Ace, who would lead me to Kline," I informed her. Marie sighed and shook her head.

"And you think I wouldn't kill Kline?"

"I didn't know you would be here," I admitted. Marie smiled triumphantly.

"You're a little behind on the times, then. Ace, come and bring her," Marie said. A trapdoor in the boat flipped open and I saw Ace drag a bound and gagged Kline from the bottom. My spirits soared as I studied Kline- only to have them dashed upon the rocks.

Kline looked horrible. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was cut very short and limp, and she wasn't even resisting Ace. That wasn't the Kline I knew. She looked defeated, scared even. In the darkness I imagined I saw tears in her eyes, but I figured it was a trick of the light. Except that there was no light.

"So Ace led you here, did she?" Marie asked, glancing at the assassin. Ace still wore her sunglasses, much to my amazement. It was pitch black out already, and she was still wearing those things? I nodded, though, turning my attention back on Marie.

"Yeah, she did."

"So Ace, your little plan worked out!" Marie chuckled, turning to look at Ace. Ace's smile was a ghastly beacon in the dark. I heard Holmes stir uneasily behind me, and gestured for him to keep still.

"You might say that," I heard Ace say softly, with that characteristic Bulgarian accent. Marie smiled and turned back to look at me.

"Ace has been so good at following commands thus far. I commanded her to kill all of you, did you know? She was planning on killing you tonight. She already killed Christine just to prove how good she was," Marie sighed in pleasure.

I froze in terror. Christine was dead? I heard Holmes gasp from behind me and stumble backwards. I imagined I was doing the same thing. I grasped for something to hold onto and ended up falling back into my seat. Marie laughed.

"Yes... days ago. Shot her in the head, but only after torturing her for a while. Poor little Kline was so distraught, did you know? She attacked Ace here, but didn't win. In fact, Jennifer, I do believe you're the only one who has gotten the better of our master gunmistress here. Did you know that she has two cracked ribs because of you? She was so upset that she decided to kill you at sea. But with gun or card, I wonder?" Marie mused, studying Ace, who was devoid of emotion. I choked back my anger and sorrow at Christine's death long enough to ask her a few more questions.

"And Miss Gardens? What did she ever do to you, Ace? Why'd you kill her?" I screamed. Ace turned her head towards me slowly.

"I did not kill her," she said simply. I snorted.

"Your calling card. Murder weapon was a razor sharp ace of spades," I reminded her. Ace sighed.

"I did not kill her," she repeated. Marie cleared her throat.

"I'm afraid that Ace is telling the truth, Jennifer dear. Ace did not kill Miss Gardens. I did. I grew tired with her. She was, after all, part of my elite forces. And she was no longer elite and was ready to tell the police. I merely used Ace as a cover up," Marie explained. I buried my head into my hands. This was getting too confusing. Ace didn't kill Gardens, but she did kill Christine... I choked on my tears and stared up at Marie.

"I hate you, Marie. You must have been horrible when you were Holmes's mother," I snarled, hitting her where I knew it would hurt. Marie recoiled, as did Ace and Kline. Apparently neither of them knew that Marie was Holmes's mother. Marie's hand flew to her face, which still had those horrible scars on them.

"I was a very good mother to Sherlock. I loved him," she said softly.

"Yeah, and then promptly turned to crime. Good thing you abandoned him. You're a really crappy role model, Marie. Holmes told me that he wishes you were dead," I informed her. In all actuality, Holmes had said no such thing, but maybe she would get so blinded by rage that Kline could escape...

"You vile little girl!" Marie shrieked. Holmes winced as she took a step forward. "That's it! Move, Ace."

Ace moved to the side as Marie studied Kline quietly. I could see Marie's eyes burning with passion and rage, and I wondered if I hadn't pushed too far. She grabbed Kline's face in one hand and stared at it intensely. Kline held her gaze. Finally, Marie looked back at me.

"She's your friend, isn't she?" she asked. I nodded slowly.

"All friends must say good bye at one point and time... say good bye to Miss Kline, Jennifer."

I screamed as Marie shoved Kline backwards into the water. She was still bound! She would drown. I watched as she fell and barely heard Marie chortle and turn to Ace.

"Use your gun, Ace. Kill her when she hits the water," Marie commanded. I looked back at the two, tears streaming down my face. Ace didn't even hesitate to pull her gun off her hip. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to watch.

"Are you insane? I don't even know how to use this thing!" Ace snapped. But it wasn't Ace's voice. It was more melodic, and it didn't have a Bulgarian accent. I opened my eyes in time to see Ace throw her large gun to the ground and dive into the water after Kline.

Marie gawked at Ace. I gawked at Ace. Holmes did not. Holmes took the opportunity to leap at Marie's boat, which we had continually been drifting near, and climb on board. Marie must have said something, because suddenly the engine was back on in her boat and they were driving into the ocean. I saw Holmes tackle Marie and Marie hit him, hard.

I didn't know what to do, though. Did I leave Kline and Ace to die in the water and follow, or leave Holmes to possibly die as I stayed? It wasn't a hard choice. Holmes might possibly die, but Kline would die if she didn't get on a boat.

I peered into the water, searching desperately for any sign of my friend and her surprising savior. I had no clue why Ace wanted to save Kline, but I was willing to accept her as an ally for now. I didn't see anyone, though. No pale faces, no hair, not even an article of clothing. I was on the verge of panic.

"Kline?" I called to the water. No answer. "Kline?" I tried again. There was still no answer. I began shaking uncontrollably. Were Kline and Ace already dead? Had I pretty much sealed Holmes's death? I turned away from the edge of the boat and sat in the middle of it, feeling warm tears leaking out of my eyes. They soon became full-fledged sobs.

Then something miraculous happened. I heard something break the surface of the water, followed by coughing and no small amount of choking. I turned and saw a pale, thin hand grip the edge of the boat and tilt it somewhat. Kline came tumbling into the boat, unconscious. I shrieked and ran over, ripping the gag out of her mouth. She didn't move. She was breathing, though, so I let loose the breath I had been holding. Then I looked over the edge of the boat.

A very wet, unhappy looking Ace was floating there, struggling to stay afloat. Except she no longer looked like Ace. Ace had black hair. The girl that I saw had auburn-hair, sort of sparrow brown. Also, her sunglasses were gone. And in the very dim light I could see dark blue peering at me. I gaped at the girl. It was Christine.

She offered me the smallest of smiles before she sank underneath the water again. I screamed and grabbed onto her. Christine gripped my hands and pulled her head above water. She grinned again.

"Dear Lord! Help a girl up, will you? Do you know how hard it is to swim in thigh high boots and a trench coat?" she said quickly. I noticed that I was losing my grip on her, so I tugged her onto the boat as quick as possible.

She landed heavily and began coughing and choking immediately. I stared at her. She looked so different. Her hair was much shorter, only about ear-length, or so. When she was dressed in The Matrix ensemble, she looked three times more intimidating. The black trench coat engulfed her petite frame and bent with her as she coughed. Finally, after she stopped, she rushed over to the controls on the boat and stared at them helplessly.

"Jenny! Get over here and steer this thing towards Sherlock and Marie! We have a criminal to catch!" she yelled at me. I stumbled over Kline's prostrate body and flipped the engine on. It came to life with a dark purr, and I gunned it. Christine fell backwards as we raced over the waves. Marie's boat had a lot of distance on us. I could barely see the outline in the distance.

I drove like a madwoman towards the boat. If Holmes was dead, it was all my fault. Just because I was pretty angry at the boy didn't mean I wanted him dead, after all. And if we caught Marie, that would be quite possibly the best thing ever. I heard Christine struggling to sit up straight in the back of the boat and grinned a bit. Christine was still alive. I was a bit confused about how Ace was Christine, but now was not the time to ask. I was content with no answers right now.

We reached Marie's boat within ten minutes, much to my pleasure. I also saw that Holmes was still fighting. This was also a good thing. However, he was outnumbered. Bad thing. I saw Christine stand and steered towards the boat. I knew what she was going to do.

She stumbled towards me in the swift moving boat and grabbed something from her leg, handing it to me. I looked and saw it was a deck of razor sharp cards. I looked back at her in confusion.

"Cut Kline's bonds off!" she shouted. I nodded briefly at her before she jumped off the boat and managed to cling to Marie's boat. She scrambled upwards and pulled out her silver gun. Her big gun was still gone, I realized. I saw her run over to where Holmes was fighting and kick a few of Marie's henchmen down. She wasn't a good fighter, but she could be downright scary if she wanted.

With Christine fighting the henchmen, that left Holmes with Marie, who was running over to the boat that 'Ace' had secured to her own boat earlier. A speed boat. If Marie got on that, we were screwed. Holmes followed her as swift as possible, but I knew he would never make it. Marie jumped into the boat and lowered it to the water. I could barely see her swift hands hitting buttons. And then the boat roared to life, and was released from the larger boat.

Marie sped around the big boat and off towards the middle of the ocean. I saw Holmes look after her in despair, and heard Christine yelp in surprise, and realized that I was NOT going to let Marie escape one more time. I drove around to where Holmes was standing.

"Holmes! Jump!" I told him. He didn't even ask, he just did. My boat rocked as he landed, and I glanced back to make sure he hadn't landed on Kline. He hadn't. I offered him a smile, and he smiled back. Leaning forward, he pulled Kline to sit next to him and began working on her bonds. I tossed him the deck, which he caught carefully and set to work.

Immediately after catching him, I moved around to the side that Christine was standing on. She was struggling to fight and barely holding her own. The only thing that stopped the henchmen from killing her right there and then was her silver gun. To my surprise, I also saw two henchmen helping Christine, a man and a woman. Probably another reason Christine wasn't dead yet. Christine glanced down and saw my boat speeding alongside the large one and I gestured for her to jump. She paused and said something to the two henchmen helping her, and then jumped. The boat rocked on her impact also, but I ignored it. We were going to catch Marie.

With Holmes taking care of Kline in the back, Christine moved to the front to join me. I glanced over at her and realized how very scary she looked, with her pale face grim and her black trench coat flying out from behind her. She looked like Death's Angel. The fact that she had a silver gun in her hand had nothing to do with it. She stood next to me, looking as determined as I felt.

"How much of a head start does she have on us?" she shouted. I barely heard her.

"A good three minutes!"

"How fast?"

"We're going seventy... I think she's going eighty."

"Can you speed up?"

"I'll destroy the engine," I warned her. Christine thought about it, then nodded. I sped up while she disappeared to the back of the boat, presumably to check on Kline. I kept my eyes on where Marie was headed.

Christine appeared again moments later, a small smile on her lips. I looked at her questioningly.

"Kline's awake. I think I scared the crap out of her!" Christine shouted her answer. I rolled my eyes. Christine was such a drama queen. I didn't think it was a good thing for Christine to be the first thing she saw when she woke up, but I didn't say anything. I was busy.

"What'd you go back there for?" I asked. Ok, maybe I did say something. 

"I put a life jacket on Kline. She's too weak to swim if she falls in."

I thought that was a good idea, but this time I really didn't say anything. We were going ninety miles an hour at this point, and I could feel the engine practically dissolving on me. Still, we were getting closer to Marie. I could see her clearly at this point. I could clearly see as she swiveled her boat around and headed for the mainland. I screamed in frustration and heard rather than saw Christine slam her hand on the dashboard in frustration. I turned the boat as well, which just about murdered the engine, and followed.

It was a tense silence for the next five minutes as we followed Marie. We passed the large boat and I saw the two henchmen that had been helping Christine wave at her as they went by. Apparently, they had won. We were getting pretty close to the mainland now, so I really stepped on it.

Next to me, I heard a click. I looked over and saw, to my astonishment, Christine loading her silver gun. I gaped at her, and she must have felt it, because she looked at me.

"Just get me close enough to the boat to shoot, ok?" she shouted. I nearly choked. Christine was going to kill her! I agreed anyway. I didn't dare refuse Christine. Marie was only ten feet away or so at this point, so I sped up again. We were soon side by side with her. Marie looked up and shrieked in horror. Christine took aim- but not towards Marie. Towards the gas tank on Marie's boat. I also noticed the candles that were currently lit and floating in the water. If the gas touched those candles... I grabbed her arm.

"If you hit the gas tank, both of these boats are going to get blown to kingdom come!" I screamed. Christine fixed me with an icy glare, a glare that the old Christine could never have pulled off. Then she smiled quietly.

"After I shoot, jump. Holmes already knows. He's ready with Kline. Trust me," she said gently in my ear. I barely heard her and couldn't see her through my tears. 

"I trust you!" I screamed. Christine grinned.

"You're a hero, you know that Jenny? You've done everything the rest of us couldn't do. I'll see you again soon."

I wondered what she meant, but didn't have a chance to think about it as Christine focused on her target. I winced and turned away, ready to jump. 

But I couldn't do it. I turned to look at Christine as she aimed. Marie looked at Christine as she aimed and her mouth dropped open in horror. Marie left the controls and got ready to jump. Christine pulled the trigger. Marie tensed. I tore my eyes away from Marie and Christine, and instead jumped over the side of my boat. I could just see Holmes and Kline do the same thing. I was underwater when I heard the explosion, muffled by the water around me. I looked up and saw a dark shape sinking slowly. Part of the boat.

The water churned violently and I struggled to get to the surface of the water. I clawed desperately around me and kicked. I was going to drown! I couldn't see any light! I was going to die! I nearly screamed before remembering that if I did that, I would surely die. I was running out of air and began to go numb.

Finally my head broke the surface, slamming into a floating candle. I coughed and spit out some water and began to struggle to stay afloat. A pair of hands grabbed me and thrust a life jacket into my hand. I pulled it on instantly and turned to look at Holmes and Kline. Both looked like waterlogged rats, and I couldn't help but grin at them. I grabbed onto Kline and began sobbing into her hair.

"I thought I would never see you again!" I cried. Kline patted me awkwardly.

"I know. I felt the same way," she sobbed. We clung together and sobbed for a bit, Holmes floating nearby. When we were done crying we looked over at him, a bit embarrassed.

"Ok. Now that we're done crying, what do we do?" Kline asked softly, her voice scratchy. I didn't really know. Apparently neither did Holmes, who looked at us fearfully. I think it was the only time I've ever seen Holmes utterly terrified. Maybe because he might have just witnessed his mom's death and maybe because he didn't want to drown to death.

Our questions were answered quickly, though, by the sound of a boat. Even quicker when the boat ran into me. I yelped in pain and the boat stopped.

"Jenny?" I heard an accented voice ask. I sighed in relief.

"Zeke, thank God you found us!"

"Us?"

"Yeah, my friends Kline and Holmes are here too," I told him, knowing he would catch the significance. 

"You found her?" he said happily. I nodded, even though he couldn't see us.

"Yeah... could we get into you boat, please? Ours seems to have exploded."

Zeke grabbed me and hulled me into his little row boat. We must have been closer to land than I thought if he was using a row boat. "We saw it explode. We were lighting our candles right when it did," Zeke said. I squinted at him and realized he must have meant the candles for the people who died at sea. He lifted Kline into the boat, and then Holmes. We sat quietly for a few minutes, breathing heavily.

"What happened?" Zeke asked. Kline looked away and Holmes shook his head slowly. Zeke looked at me expectantly.

"Um... can we wait until we get to your house?"

Zeke nodded and grabbed the oars. Kline, though, shot up suddenly, looking furious.

"What about Christine?"

I nearly swore. I had completely forgot about her. I looked sharply over at Holmes, who was propping Kline up against his shoulder. He glanced down at our friend, who after her revelation had sunk back down again. She looked atrocious. Hideous. If we didn't get her wrapped up and in a nice bed soon, she would probably get sick. And then there was the matter of her mental issues.

"Holmes, did you...?" I trailed off. I prayed he had seen if Christine had made it or not. I couldn't bear to lose another friend. Not now. Not when everything was together again. Not when we had found Kline. Not when Holmes and I were talking again. I didn't want to have to tell Christine's mother, who was one of the nicest people in the world. A little absent-minded, but so nice.

Holmes looked into the water, a bit uncertain. 

"I didn't see it exactly. I was... preoccupied. But Watson, she made it. She has a fighter's spirit. She knew what she was doing," he said gently. He reached over and grabbed my hand, trying to soothe my spirits.

I didn't want to acknowledge the obvious. She knew what she was doing, yes. But what if part of her plan involved a sacrifice?

"Let's go home. I'm sure she's fine. She's a really strong swimmer, and we're not too far from land," Holmes whispered. I looked over and could see the mainland. Holmes was right, it was very close. And Christine knew where Zeke lived, most likely. St. Ives was a small town.

"Ok. Yeah, she's fine. I think we would know if she was really gone."

Zeke turned the boat around, and we headed towards shore.

Well... what is there to say? I know it's a little late, but consider it a New Years present. Christine is NOT dead, I just couldn't bring her back into this chapter. She needs a break. Running around as Ace takes a lot out of a person. Just as a note, Ace is one of my original characters, one that's been running around in my head for years. She's actually my Evil Muse. I wanted to stick her in a story, but I don't have the time to write her her own series, so I stuck her here... kinda. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll try my hardest to update sometime next week. I have midterms, though, in two weeks, so it all depends... 


	11. Recovery and Talk

Chapter Eleven: Recovery and Talk

We trudged into Zeke's house at midnight or so, completely soaked and smelling like dead fish. Zeke took one look at us and took me and Kline to his daughter's closet, insisting that we change. He led Holmes away and left Kline and I alone.

I watched as she rifled through the clothes, finally selecting a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with some rock band on it. She changed swiftly and then sat on the bed, waiting for me to pick out some clothes. I did so quickly and threw them on. Kline sat silently through the entire thing. Finally, just when I was about to leave the room, she spoke up.

"You think she's dead."

I glanced at her, surprised. I was trying to ignore that sinking feeling in my gut. It had been my nearest companion for a total of thirty minutes. The dread, the guilt, and then my stupid optimism. Kline sat on the bed, her arms folded, her eyes full of the dread I felt.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Of course she's alive," I lied, turning my back to her. I was a really crappy liar. She didn't need to see that I didn't believe what I was saying.

"You suck at lying, Jenny. I'll tell you though- she is alive. I saw her jump."

"You saw what you wanted to see."

"I saw her jump. Think back to the last minutes, Jenny. Think back to the reactions of others. Remember everything you saw, and you'll remember seeing her."

I sighed and tried to think back, pulling back the memories.

I saw Christine pull the trigger of her silver gun and nearly fall backwards at the recoil. I saw Marie dive over the side of her own boat. I hit the water at this point, but I could see in the corner of my mind a dark shadow sink in the water even as I began panicking to reach the surface. I had thought it part of the boat, but now that I thought about it, it looked more human shaped. I opened my eyes with just the smallest intake of breath.

"She did jump. She jumped just as the boat went soaring... she's probably down at the docks right now!" I exclaimed. I ran over the closet and began pulling on any shoe that I could find. Kline was at my side in an instant, tugging shoes onto her own feet. I finished before her and ran out the door. Holmes was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea with Zeke. He looked up as I came barreling into the room.

"Watson! What is going on?" he asked as I grabbed a coat that hung on the coat rack. I pulled it on, only to find that it hung down to my feet. It was Zeke's coat, apparently.

"You were right, Holmes, she is alive! We have to go down to the docks right now," I said urgently. Holmes frowned and grabbed a coat of his own, pulling it on even as I went flying out the door.

"That doesn't mean she's alive! She could have been knocked unconscious and drowned," he warned as I ran down the street. I heard the door slam and figured Kline was following, or Zeke.

"You're the one who told me to have hope, Holmes, and I'm keeping that hope. Come on!"

It wasn't a very far run to the docks. Zeke lived right next to the church, which was right next to the ocean. Still, it felt like it took eternity. I could hear Zeke breathing heavily as he ran after us, Kline's sneakers pounding on the pavement, and Holmes's little murmurings. My own breath came out in short little gasps. I was really not cut out for running.

We finally reached the docks and I began running down each little pier, screaming Christine's name. Holmes stood at the end, looking at me hopefully as I peered into each boat and at the edges of each pier, hoping to see her clinging to unstable wood. Nothing.

Kline stood behind me, running her hands through the water. I suppose she was hoping to feel something that belonged to Christine. She looked upset, and I realized she hadn't found anything either. Her eyes met mine, but I saw a fiery hope in her eyes that I knew mine did not harbor. Still, we kept going.

We are the third to last pier when we found her.

"Christine!" I shouted hopelessly. I heard a sharp cough, a sniff, and then-

"I'm here. I was wondering what took you so long."

Kline shoved me out of the way even as I ran over to help her up. I nearly fell into the water, but Holmes grabbed my arm and steadied me. I smiled at him gratefully and then returned my attention to Kline and Christine.

Kline was pulling a water-logged Christine out of the water. Her hair was plastered to her head, and her trench coat was ripped to pieces, but her thigh-high boots and shirt and pants were in fine condition. She stood dripping on the dock for a few moments, regaining her footing before looking up and grinning at Kline, Holmes, and I.

"Hey guys."

I swear, Christine had the gift of understatement. I looked warily at her for a few seconds before responding.

"Good to see you, too, Christine."

Then again, maybe I had the same gift.

Christine chuckled merrily and put an arm around Kline happily. She looked absolutely horrible with her pale skin and shredded coat, but she looked to be in good spirits, so we assumed she wasn't injured. She walked over and gave a quick hug.

"Well, it's been a while. Last time I saw you was on, what, Monday? Even then it wasn't exactly a pleasant meeting," Christine reminded me. I blushed a bit, and glanced at her stomach.

"Was Marie telling the truth? Did I crack your ribs?"

"I think we can safely say that she was telling the truth."

"Oops."

Christine cackled and looked over at Holmes. Her smile disappeared when she saw his hard look. She sighed and shook her head.

"I'm assuming that you haven't quite forgiven me yet, Sherlock?" she inquired. Holmes frowned at her, his face pinched and sour looking in the poor lighting. Then his face lightened into a soft smirk.

"Well, if Watson here broke your ribs, I think that you're even."

Christine rolled her eyes and glanced over at Zeke, who was looking quite surprised. She waved sheepishly at him.

"Hey there, Zeke. Sorry about your boat."

"Ace?" he asked hesitantly. Christine shrugged.

"I was at one point. Ace is... well, Ace is real, but I was just impersonating her for a while. My real name is Christine." Christine held out her hand, which Zeke stared at and then shook.

"Pleasure to meet you. I would assume that you're the Christine that Jenny was always moaning about?"

"Well, if she was moaning, then yeah, that's me."

I sighed. I hadn't actually moaned about her. Complained, maybe. Whimpered, maybe. Groaned, maybe. But not moaned. Kline cleared her throat from behind me.

"This is all well and good, but I'm really confused here. First off, Christine is Ace? Second, why would Jenny complain about Christine? Third, why would things not be right between Sherlock and Christine? Fourth, what is up with Jenny and Sherlock? Fifth, why are Christine's ribs cracked? Sixth-" I cut Kline off.

"Why don't we go inside and talk. I'm sure Christine is just dying to get those soggy clothes off."

"Yeah, I'd like to burn most of this ensemble. Ace has really weird fashion sense. I miss my turtlenecks."

We sat at Zeke's kitchen table, each nursing a hot tea. Kline had fallen asleep in the middle of my explanation of events, and even Holmes was looking drowsy. I must admit, I was drifting off at my own tea cup. It was now three am, and we were all exhausted. The only one who wasn't looking tired was Zeke, and that was because he was used to getting up that early. He fluttered around the kitchen, making us more tea and some biscuits. He even promised to make us pancakes once five am came 'round.

Christine was curled up on the sofa in Zeke's den. She had fallen asleep even before we began talking about our own version of events. She claimed to know what was happening in Kline's world and my world, and she probably did, too. Ace had gotten around a lot. We were waiting for her to wake up so we could hear her version of events.

"You could have woken me up, you know," came the sleepy but amused voice of Christine. She plodded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Zeke handed her a cup of tea, which she accepted gratefully before sitting down. Christine reached over and tugged on Kline's hair. Kline's head shot up, nearly disrupting the tea cups scattered around the table. Christine shot her a smile.

"Morning, Kline. Nice to see you're alert and all," she said, a yawn interrupting her halfway. Kline smiled.

"Yeah, and you're one to talk."

I rolled my eyes at the playful bickering of Christine and Kline. You would have thought things would be tense between them, what with the capture and masquerade and all. But no, they continued on as though things were normal. I was ready to smack them when Christine continued.

"So I guess you guys want to know what the heck is up with me?"

"You could say that," Holmes said dryly, taking a deep drink of his tea. Christine sighed and closed her eyes, attempting to draw forth words, or so it appeared.

"Ok. Here goes. After I hit Jenny and made a run for it, I went to her house and grabbed my clothes and left her a note. I was pretty darn upset and all, so I completely ditched. I stayed in London for a day or two, not knowing what to do, when I heard this criminal or something talking about how Marie possibly wanted to hire the famous Ace the Assassin. Ok, I had heard nothing about either chick at this point, so I went to Raze. She spilled everything- well, almost everything- and so I made my decision. If I couldn't find Kline in the traditional sense, I would go through the backdoors.

"Raze got me some pictures of Ace and I quickly constructed my costume. I had to change her hair color, though, because it is way too hard to dye brown hair white. Anyway, I contacted Marie and said I was up for hire. She pulled me in to meet me at her London headquarters. I had no clue what she wanted with me, but I agreed anyway.

"So, I'm there, and she drags me into this one room. Voila! Kline is there, tied to a chair, and looking relatively unharmed. Anyway, Marie told me to kill three people. Christine, Jenny, and Sherlock. In that order. I said that was fine, I could do that. I told her to leave Kline alone."

Kline interrupted her, blue eyes slightly troubled. "Why didn't you take me right then? Why didn't you rescue me right away?" she asked. Christine sighed.

"That place was crawling with Marie's people. If I had grabbed you then, we both would have been killed."

"And later? When we were in St. Ives?"

"Same reason. If I took you then, you would be killed and I would too. Pretty pointless. It was better for me to keep my cover and keep you relatively unharmed than blow it and risk your death. Moving on. I had to kill myself, which was my first job. That wasn't too hard. I contacted Todd, who was still involved with theatre, and we got together. He took the pictures I told him to take. With a bit of makeup you can do wonders.

"Ok, so I was dead. Now my next order of business was to get you found, Kline. Unfortunately, Jenny and Sherlock were in St. Ives. Their school was crawling with criminals, and I was being watched by one of Marie's faithful henchmen. I couldn't come right out and say where Kline was, because Marie would know instantly and kill us both. I had to convince them to come to me and figure it out. That was why I met with you, Jenny. I was hoping you would realize with all the religious stuff that I would be near the church. I figured it would take you a day to figure it out, and I knew Wednesday would have a service, so I waited until then. When you came into the church, I ran so that you could follow me out to the docks. Marie was planning on selling Kline to some people on Wednesday evening.

"That's basically it," Christine finished. She folded her hands neatly and set them in her lap. Holmes glared at her.

"Why didn't you tell Jenny or me that you were Ace?" he asked. I nodded. That was a really good question. I was wondering the same thing. Christine sighed, but Kline interrupted her response.

"Because that would have blown her cover also. Marie's henchmen were all over town, and especially in that school. If she met with your or sent you a letter, Marie would find out really quickly. Somebody was sure to see the meeting or read the note. She did it to protect me and herself," Kline explained, catching on quicker than Holmes or I. It made sense, though.

"How'd you know where to shoot the boat so it would blow up?" I asked.

"Well, I didn't spend all my time running around with Marie. I knew how to end the case by Saturday evening. I figured that if we were going on a boat, I might as well find out as much about boats as possible. Old habit. Plus, Kline here made me watch a lot of action/adventure movies. Gas and candles will naturally make an explosion," Christine explained calmly. I nodded slowly. Kline grinned suddenly.

"The outfit, Christine? What was with the leather and trench coat?" she asked. Christine shrugged and ran a hand through her hair.

"Ace wears clothes like that. The real Ace, I mean. She's really into your stereotypical criminal styles. Actually, she wears business suits when she's not on a job, from what I heard."

"The sunglasses?" That was Kline again.

"I knew you would recognize my eyes."

A silence fell over the table as Christine drank her tea and Zeke flitted about the kitchen making food. I sighed slowly.

"So... the case is closed?" I asked. Christine paused and lowered her eyes.

"This case is, yes. The thing is..."

"What?" Holmes asked harshly. Christine set her tea cup down and placed a hand on her forehead.

"I anticipated most of what would happen, Sherlock. But I didn't anticipate that Marie would grab a life jacket before she jumped. I didn't realize that the boat would explode more up than out. I didn't anticipate-"

"Marie surviving," Holmes finished for her dryly. Christine closed her eyes momentarily, and I could see she was really struggling with this. I felt sorry for her. I knew how she felt.

"Yes," she pushed out. Holmes sighed and leaned back in his chair. Kline let a little whimper escape her lips, and I patted her shoulder gently. Christine glanced over at Kline sharply, looking very upset.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize that there was the possibility she might survive. I've never exploded a boat before. I think she was injured, though. And the police know about her now. She may end up in jail still," she offered hopefully. Kline shook her head.

"They'll never catch her. Marie's too smart. You blew it, Christine," Kline snapped. She stood up quite suddenly and disappeared into a room near the back of the house. I glanced over at Christine, trying to read her expression. Her lips were pinched and she was staring off into space. She stood, smiling at Holmes and I.

"Why don't you two talk while I have a quick little discussion with Kline, ok?" Christine said. Before we even had a chance to agree or disagree, Christine was following Kline. I watched as she entered to room Kline had taken refuge in. I heard the door slam and then, to my surprise, lock. I slowly looked back at Holmes, who was scowling at a spot on the table.

"Holmes, you shouldn't look so sour. We're all alive and all right. We have Kline back and she's fine. Christine is back, and she's fine. I'm fine, you're fine, and-"

"And Marie is fine, which is exactly what I didn't want to hear!" he snapped. I frowned at him.

"You shouldn't want your mother dead, Holmes," I informed him. Holmes turned his glare onto me, his eyes glittering angrily.

"She isn't my mother. She hasn't been my mother for years, if you'll recall. The last time I saw her, you nearly died."

"But she loved you, Holmes."

"She wanted you and me dead."

"So? It wasn't like it was a new goal or anything. Maybe she can be redeemed," I suggested. Holmes didn't even grace that with a response, merely stood and walked into the den. I followed. He wasn't escaping that easily.

"Look, Holmes, you have to let go. Don't get obsessed with her or anything. Don't you remember what happened to the original Sherlock Holmes who got obsessed with a Moriarty? Nearly died? Was saved by some weird martial art? You don't know that weird martial art, Holmes, so if you confront Marie there is a large chance you could die," I commented lightly. Holmes whirled to face me.

"Are you saying that me wanting to bring her to justice is hopeless?" he snarled.

"No, I'm saying that you're going to squander your life away by trying to catch the her. You're just a kid, Holmes. You should be worrying about your math test scores, not if the mob boss is going to get caught."

Holmes groaned and sank down onto the sofa, avoiding my eyes. I sat down next to him. "You know I'm right."

"Yes, I know you're right. I think it is somewhat impossible for us to lead a normal life, though. Don't you think, Watson?"

"I could, if I wanted. Which I do, actually, but that isn't the point. This was my last case, Holmes. It should be yours as well. You're already going gray, and we've nearly died one too many times to count. We shouldn't be thinking about things like that. Crimes can be solved by the police," I reminded him. Holmes nodded slowly, his thin hands playing with a sofa cushion.

"But what if they can't solve it? I'm the only one who has the abilities to- to solve these cases," he stammered. I shook my head and placed my hand over his.

"That isn't true. You just get so immersed in the case that you don't see that the police are working just as hard as you. I'm guilty for that as well. But we're sixteen! When we're twenty-one we can worry about criminals and criminal overlords. For now, I want to worry about-"

We were cut off by a very loud crash followed by a scream from the room Kline and Christine were in. I jumped up immediately and ran to the door and started pounding on it. Holmes was at my heels.

"Kline! Christine! Are you all right? Open this door right now!" I screamed. There was silence from the room, and then I heard a distinctive click. The door opened a crack and I threw it open before one of the girls could close it again.

I was greeted by a terrified looking Christine who was sitting next to a very broken lamp. Kline was standing by the door, laughing as Christine sat on the floor and tried to piece the lamp back together again. Holmes looked at the two.

"What happened?" he asked, directing his question towards Kline. Kline was practically choking on her laughter.

"We got a little overzealous in our fight," Kline giggled. I glanced over at Christine, whose eyes were wide but sparkling with laughter.

"The lamp is a casualty! See what happens when you fight, Kline? Someone is always hurt! No, little lamp! Don't give up! Someone call the paramedics, this lamp isn't going to make it otherwise!" Christine howled. I felt a smile slip onto my face. This was more like the Christine and Kline I knew.

Kline ran over to the lamp and lifted the piece that connected the light bulb to the rest of the lamp. She held it dramatically as Christine pretended to sob.

"Speak to me! Oh lamp, speak to me! Jenny, call an ambulance. I'm going to try and resuscitate it!"

To my shock and amusement, Kline put her lips to the light bulb and began blowing air onto it. In between breaths she pressed down on some of the shattered bits of lamp.

"One, two, three! Breath! One, two, three! Breath! Jenny, what are you doing just standing there? Holmes, go get me surgical materials. This lamp needs an operation, stat!"

Holmes ran out of the room, leaving me to stare at Christine and Kline. Kline was wrapping some strips around her hands like gloves and Christine had wrapped a shirt around her head as a surgical mask. I laughed a bit.

"You guys have watched ER one too many times. What happened to yelling at each other?"

"When there is a victim on the premise, you tend to forget petty things like that, Jenny. Are you going to help or just stand there?" Christine asked, glaring at me in what might have been scary had she not been biting back a smile. I let out a sigh of relief.

Things were normal again.

Hours later the lamp was pieced together again and looking remarkably healthy. The 'surgeons' looked remarkably happy with themselves while the 'nurses' were the ones covered with glue. Needless to say, I was not quite pleased with the predicament. How was it that Kline and Christine, the ones fixing the lamp, emerged spotless while Holmes and I, who were hardly involved, were covered in the goop? It didn't make sense, but I wasn't much asking, either.

We were all leaning against the wall when Kline brought up our next topic.

"I think we should go home," she said softly. I looked at her in surprise. Did she mean London or Ashling?

"I'm afraid I must agree with Kline. It is time we returned to our families," Christine agreed. They meant Ashling, obviously. Tears began springing to my eyes, unbidden but unstoppable. I didn't want them to leave. I had missed them so much.

"But... you still have a while until your scholarship ends," Holmes protested. I nodded.

"We can go back to London, live low for a while. You know, watch cartoons on Saturdays and stuff. Get fat. The things teenagers are supposed to do," I suggested. Christine looked down and away from us, unwilling to look at us. Kline, however, looked at us straight in the eyes.

"I miss my mom and dad. I miss Ashling. I miss my school and small, not dangerous cases. I'm sorry, Jenny, but it's time we go home. My mom doesn't even know I'm alive, I'm sure. I want to be with her again," replied Kline. I sighed and stood up. I knew it had been too good to be true. Christine and Kline couldn't stay with us forever.

"Couldn't you stay for just a little while longer?" I heard myself plead. Christine looked up at me, her eyes sad but firm.

"No."

One little word and I realized everything. Kline and Christine hadn't emerged unscarred, like I had thought. They had their own things going on in their head. They needed time with people who weren't rushing into danger every day. They needed and deserved a quiet life. Even as Holmes continued to protest and argue with Kline, I felt my resolve giving away. They didn't belong in England. They had suffered as much as we had, Kline even more so. Holmes and I had no right to keep them here and make them feel guilty for wanting to leave.

"Ok," I said, interrupting Holmes even as he said no. Kline looked at me thankfully and I saw Christine's shoulders relax. Neither had wanted to argue with us. They just wanted to go.

"I'll contact your mothers and tell them to meet you at the airport, and then I'll call our airport and get you a flight for... tomorrow, say?"

They didn't even answer, they merely nodded.

I left the room and went to talk on the phone. It was time for them to go.

Next chapter is the last one... please review!!


	12. The Way We Were

Chapter Twelve: The Way We Were

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Memories

Light the corners of my mind

Misty water-colored memories

Of the way we were

The car ride to the airport the following morning was long and uneventful. Christine and Kline were pretty much silent, playing with their baggage. Neither had much, although Christine had gone out and bought a new trench coat. She didn't wear it, though. Today she was wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt. I don't know why she wouldn't wear it. It made her look cool.

Not that Kline was any better. She had taken one look at the baggage at my house and blanched. Christine had bought her a whole new wardrobe. She wore blue jeans and a white sweater. I didn't understand it, but I didn't dare question it.

Zeke and my mom drove us to the airport. My mom really liked Zeke, I think. Well, she liked him more than any other man she'd met before. I was glad she liked him. I would hate it if they hated each other. I had a sneaking suspicion, though, that my mom liked Zeke in more than one way, and the vice versa. I didn't mind, though. I needed a father figure.

Zeke stopped at the entrance of the airport and turned around to look at Christine and Kline, who were looking tiredly at the airport.

"I figure you kids will want some time to say good-bye. We'll be waiting here. It was a pleasure to meet both of you," Zeke said, talking to Kline and Christine. Kline grinned widely while Christine just gave him a small half smile.

"The same goes for us. We'll miss you, Zeke," Christine murmured. She gave the Irish fisherman a kiss on the cheek and then opened the door and jumped out. Kline shook Zeke's hand and followed. I climbed out of the car with them, intent on saying good-bye to them and not letting them disappear. Holmes must have thought the same thing, because I heard him slam the door and follow.

Christine and Kline set their baggage on the little x-ray thing and turned to face us once we were inside. Kline was smiling broadly.

"Well," she said with a final sort of tone in her voice. I had to choke back my tears.

_'Don't sound so final... don't make it sound like it's forever... don't say good-bye!'_ my mind wailed at her. Kline, however, was not a mind reader. She couldn't tell that I was crying on the inside. I don't think she wanted to. I don't think she wanted to see my misery, in case it made her miserable. For her, I sucked it up again.

"Well, it was great to visit you guys," Kline finished. Her grin became broader as she looked at me.

__

Scattered pictures

Of the smiles we left behind

Smiles we gave to one another

For the way we were

"Jenny, I gotta admit, you have a wild life here in England. Much wilder than my own," she beamed. I smiled back, now struggling to hold back the tears. Kline raised an eyebrow at Holmes, who had been unusually silent this entire time.

"You take good care of my Jenny, you hear Sherlock? I don't care if you two aren't dating anymore, or whatever is going on between you two. I want you to keep her out of trouble. You're a great kid," she commented. Christine smacked her lightly on the arm.

"You're a kid, too, dummy," she teased. Kline smacked her back.

"I'm about a month older than all of you. That makes me the adult here," Kline shot back. Christine sighed.

"God help us all."

The two continued to bicker for a few minutes while I remembered all the little play fights they had had before. I would miss those fights so much. Sure, they were slightly annoying, especially when you were trying to do your homework around them. Or when they were attempting to help you with your homework and they got into a play fight about how to teach you. I had flunked that test because of them.

"Ahem," Holmes cleared his throat, dragging me out of my reminiscing and them out of their fight. They had the courtesy to look a little sheepish, though.

"Sorry," Christine muttered. I rolled my eyes.

"No hard feelings. We understand that you and Kline both act like two-year-olds," I retorted. The look of outrage on their face was enough to set me off laughing, allowing me to forget for the time being that they were leaving. Christine sighed.

"I'm really going to miss hanging out with you two. Even if it meant Kline was there and bugging the heck out of us. Like in the basement after Christmas. Remember when she kept getting in our faces? She's like an insatiable puppy dog, I swear. You want to smack her but you can't because-"

"Because she's so darn cute," Kline interrupted. Christine smirked.

"Actually, I was going to say that it would be animal abuse, but yours works too."

They started bickering again and it felt like old times. Always fun. So simple.

__

Can it be that it was all so simple then,

Or has time rewritten every line?

If we had the chance to do it all again,

Tell me, would we?

Could we?

Christine laughed and turned away from Kline, looking directly at me, her eyes sad, tired, but at the same time, excited and happy. They were painful to look at.

"I really am going to miss you, Jenny. I hope we get to see each other again... I mean, I don't think Kline and I will be visiting London again any time soon, and as for you coming back to Michigan to see your father? By the way Zeke and your mom were looking at each other, it looks like you might have a father again someday soon," she claimed, giving me a mischievous smile. Kline made kissing sounds from behind Christine, and her smaller friend turned and smacked her.

"Hey, shut up. I'm trying to say a proper farewell here."

That was it. Christine shouldn't have said it. With that single word, I burst into tears. Christine looked stunned and immediately backed up a bit before she patted me on the shoulder.

"Oh come on, don't cry Jenny. We might see each other again soon. You never know. Maybe Kline and I will get stuck on a case and need your expert help," suggested Christine. That only made me cry harder. She sighed helplessly.

"Ok, fine. Cry. You're going to get me going in a minute or two. Ok, Sherlock, I have to say good-bye real quick. I can feel the tears in my eyes. Listen honey, you're one great detective, but you need to take a break, you really do. I'm going to miss you so much. I'm going to miss the way that you can solve mysteries faster than me. I'm going to miss the way you always made fun of me. I'm going to miss all your annoying little quirks. Wait, no, I might not miss those, but I will miss you. Take care of her, will you?" Christine finished, looking hopelessly at me. I straightened up and threw my arms around her, giving her a large hug. She tensed and then hugged me back. I could tell she was crying by now, too. Tears from her eyes were soaking my shoulder.

"G'bye, Christine. I'm going to miss you!" I sobbed. She sniffed and pushed me away from her.

"Now look what you made me go and do. Go hug Kline for a bit. She likes hugging people," Christine whimpered. I smiled tearfully at her and went over to hug Kline. She dragged me into her arms and started bawling in my hair.

"It's been great!" she sobbed. I raised an eyebrow despite my sadness.

"Great? What about-"

"Don't. I don't want to think about it. Let's just pretend this trip was perfect in every way, ok?" Kline warned, looking at me. I nodded slowly. I understood.

__

Memories

May be beautiful and yet

What's too painful to remember

We simply chose to forget

A voice came on over the speakers announcing their flight. Kline pulled away and began crying in earnest, not even trying to stop herself. Christine had stopped trying also. She ran over to Holmes and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek.

"I'll never forget you, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered. She gave me another swift hug, and then darted away, her body quivering with tears. Kline didn't bolt away quite as suddenly, though. She stood there, looking at Holmes and I, and I knew I had to ask.

"I'm never going to see you or Christine again, am I?"

Kline looked at me sadly through her tears, and she shrugged.

"Who knows? The future can hold a lot of different paths. Let's hope we do, Jenny. There is always a chance. Now, I have to go. It's been great, seeing you two. I'm really going to miss you," Kline choked, barely making it through her little speech. Holmes put a hand on her shoulder.

"Good bye, Kline. I'll miss you, too. Be sure to tell Christine the same," he said softly, the first time he had spoken all day. Kline just forced out her wide grin before she blew kisses to us and ran off. She looked over her shoulder one last time.

"Remember the good things, guys!"

And then she disappeared.

__

So it's the laughter

We will remember

Whenever we remember

The way we were

I looked over at Holmes, who was struggling to hold back his tears. Looking at him right then, I forgot all our fights, the fact that he had betrayed them, the fact that he was no longer the same Sherlock Holmes I had met. He wasn't cold and calloused right at that moment.

He was the man I had fallen in love with.

I reached over and grabbed his hand. He didn't look at me, merely squeezing my hand gently. We walked over to the windows, hand in hand but silent, and turned our attention to the sky.

The sky was very blue today. White, fluffy clouds sat cheerfully in the sky, and the sun burned brightly down upon the earth. White birds flew through the air. It was a very lovely scene. It inspired hope.

I turned to look at Holmes, who was deliberately trying not to look at me.

"Holmes," I said. He didn't look at me. "Holmes," I repeated. He looked.

"Holmes, we need to live a normal life," I said gently. He sighed and pulled me into his arms, putting his head on top of mine.

"I know," he mumbled into my hair. I hugged him tight.

"We should begin again."

"I know."

"Are you willing?"

There was silence. I was worried for a moment or two, but then I finally heard the answer.

"Yes."

A plane took off and soared through the air even as Holmes moved closer to me and brushed his lips against mine.

He was himself again.

__

The way we were

The End

And that is all. That's all she wrote. I'm finally done. My stories were popular and well liked the time that I started writing them, back when I was in seventh grade. Now that I begin eleventh grade, my stories are behind the times and pretty much hated. Don't blame you. I read my first stories and wince at the Mary-Sue-ness of it all. I guess the thing I'm proudest of in all my time here is that I got to see the SH section grow from 23 stories to 433. That's right. When I began writing, there were only 23 stories. I feel like a proud parent to see it grow.

Just because I'm done with this series, though, doesn't mean I'm going to die. I intend to write a series featuring Christine and Kline (with heavy edits, possibly including time period change), which can be watched for at 

Finally, thank you to all my reviewers. You've been the driving force behind me all these years. It always made my day to see a review from you. You guys are some of the most special people in my life, and more than 75%, I barely know. Keep reviewing, people! Everyone's stories. If you don't write, then you don't know how overwhelmingly wonderful it is to see a review waiting for you. I love you all.

I take my last bow.


End file.
